


Johanna's Games

by jeanvaljeanralphio



Series: Survivors [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4522710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanvaljeanralphio/pseuds/jeanvaljeanralphio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after returning home and witnessing the murder of her parents, Annie Cresta finds new challenges she'd never anticipated in being a Victor. The entire country only sees her as the Poor Mad Girl. Her relationship with Finnick is now strained. She's drowning in a different way than she was in the Games, and this time it'll be harder to survive.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, in District 7, Johanna Mason is training for the Hunger Games. She ventures beyond the fence every day, to practice weapons, to learn everything she can about hunting, to ensure her own survival, just in case she's Reaped....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Six Months Later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelyleias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyleias/gifts).



The water rushes up to meet her, making her flinch when it slips over her feet, and continues to move. _Breathe_ , Annie tells herself. She has to force her breath out through her pursed lips as the water recedes and she sinks a little into the soft sand.

            Six months later, and she still can’t go more than ankle-deep in the ocean.

She lets one more wave roll over her feet before shaking them out and walking back up the short stretch of beach to her house.

It’s still strange to think of it as her house. For her entire life, all she’s had is a small bedroom in a small apartment, but now this entire building belongs to her. Two storys tall, with a full kitchen stocked with food, two living rooms, three bedrooms, and two bathrooms; it’s more than she’ll ever need. Every bedroom faces the ocean, like they picked this one specifically for her so she’d have to look at it everyday.

At first, she could barely sleep, knowing it was out there. It’s so quiet at night in the Victor’s Village that she can hear the waves. Or maybe it’s just her imagination. Either way, for the first month or so of living there, the waves would turn into rushing water every night. They would sweep in, over her entire house, and drown her.

And then she would hear the noise. That awful noise from the Arena. The one that drilled into her ears and her bones and her brain. The one that meant something bad was about to happen. She’d wake up screaming then, kicking her way to the surface of a tidal wave that didn’t exist anymore. She’d gasp for air that she had plenty of and then start crying because she felt so stupid for crying over something like that.

She still feels stupid, every time she cries. Every day, she tries to swim in the ocean, and, every day, her body seizes up once it touches the water.

Early on, she made it pretty far in. She kept pushing herself, through the protest of her muscles and the tears streaming down her face, until the ocean crept through her swimsuit and touched her stomach. Panic took over then. The next thing she knew, she was sitting on her back porch with her hands pressed over her ears and Finnick’s hands resting on her knees.

Just like on the day her parents died.

She stops then, only a few steps from the porch, and takes a deep breath.

Of all people, she finds Finnick’s company the most comforting. She sometimes thinks she’d be happy never looking at him again, but she sleeps better next to him.

There’s some part of her that still feels the same way she felt before she went in the Arena. There’s a bigger part of her, though, that hates him. No, hate is too strong. She wants to scream at him. If he had let her die, her parents would be alive, and she wouldn’t have nightmares about dead people and huge waves.

He was the one who found her, after Snow had her parents shot before her eyes, after the clean up crew came in to dispose of their bodies. She only sat there, through all of it, watching their blood creep across the floor until the pools combined into one huge one. Then people came in, and removed them, and cleaned up the blood. Their faces were mixed bags of pity and disgust, daring her to make any sort of move, to prove herself. To be the person she was in the Arena, the person who, just a few days earlier, had been covered in Lark’s blood, or Ivory’s blood, or Sebastian’s, or Hera’s. She couldn’t stand the looks they were giving her, so she stared at nothing, just a fleck on the wall that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard she scratched it, until Finnick was kneeling in front of her, taking her hands and repeating her name over and over. He helped her up and took her to his house, where she slept in his bed for the first time. She’d been sleeping there, a lot of nights, ever since.

She can’t think about that now, though. She takes another deep breath and pushes open the huge ornate doors that lead directly into her kitchen. She’s greeted immediately by the smell of garlic.

“How far today?”

Mags stands next to the stove, stirring a large pot. Her long gray hair is tied back today, and she’s wearing an apron. She sets down her spoon when Annie walks in, and walks over to give her a hug, making her smile for the first time today.

“Ankles,” she tells her.

“For how long?”

“Five waves.” Annie lets out a breath and crosses behind Mags to grab a glass from the cupboard above her head.

“Hey!” another voice exclaims. Annie stops herself from flinching. She didn’t know he was here. “That’s great!”

“A year ago, I was—“

“This isn’t a year ago,” he says.

Annie fills her glass with water, keeping her eyes away from Finnick. She takes a long sip and turns back with a smile to meet Mags’ eyes.

“Time?” she asks. Annie nods.

“The whole crew will be here soon, and I want to do this before my makeover.”

“Do you want any company?” Finnick asks. She still hasn’t looked at him. She can see the rope in his hands from the corner of her eye.

She shakes her head no and walks out of the kitchen, through the front living room, out the front door, and onto the main road running through the Victors’ Village.

The road is bustling today, bursting with people and camera equipment. A few of them look up from their jobs when they hear the door open, but quickly return to whatever they’re doing. Some of them seem to be laying down a track. Some are placing cameras in various spots around the exterior of her house.

Tomorrow, she leaves for her Victory Tour. Tonight is her interview, so the country can see how crazy she still is. She chose this persona. Now she has to stick with it. She’s been putting off thinking about the tour, though, for as long as possible. Seeing the crew set up makes it hard to ignore. She trains her eyes on the ground and keeps walking.

Annie glances at Finnick’s house, right across from hers, and slips one hand up her neck, towards her ear. She hates being so cold to him, but she also hates being surprised by his visits. His choices, his advice, landed her here, just as much as hers. She still can’t forgive him for everything, just like she can’t forgive herself.

She walks down the street, past all the empty houses, to the cemetery at the back. She stops short when she sees the gate, reminded of why she’s there.

Her crying father on his knees. Her mother, with nothing but anger in her eyes. Two gunshots. Two pools of blood, slowly mixing into one.

She can’t breathe. The world is too small, and she’s too big, and all she wants is to not exist.

_I can’t_ , she thinks. _I can’t do it_.

Their deaths had been covered up, of course. The day after they were murdered, there was an announcement: There had been a horrible boating accident. Her parents were out to catch some fish for her victory dinner when they capsized. No survivors. There was a small public funeral, where only a few of their friends showed up. Annie didn’t go to that one. She couldn’t sit through a gathering like that. Fishing on your own is illegal in District 4. They died criminals, according to the whole District. She couldn’t face that.

On top of that, Sebastian’s funeral was the day before. She went, but didn’t say anything. His family kept shooting her dirty looks. They didn’t want her there. They didn’t want any sort of association with the Poor Mad Girl. She left before the ceremony ended.

_You can_ , a voice tells her, but it’s not her own. She doesn’t know whose it is.

She takes a deep breath and moves herself, step by step, to the cemetery. She walks toward the back, and, when she finds their grave, sinks to her knees.

 

HERE LIE

BECK AND MILA CRESTA

BELOVED PARENTS AND FRIENDS

 

Her two shells, the only decorations she could bring herself to add, sit on either side of their names. As she watches, the shells turn into bullet holes, and begin to ooze blood. She shuts her eyes and grabs her ears before the noise can start.

She remembers when she said goodbye to them, before she left for the Games. Her mom was so proud of her, and her dad told her to be safe.

_I hope you’re still proud_ , she thinks. _I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe_.

She makes a mental note to add more shells. The funeral isn’t really over until the graves are covered with them. It had all been too fresh at the time, and the service so soon, that she didn’t take the time to decorate. She regrets that now, as she stares at the two white shells she glued on. They deserve more. They deserve better.

Sebastian’s headstone was beautiful, dotted with shells of all colors, swirling around his name like a kaleidoscope. The whole family had worked on it. Her parents deserve something that grand.

After a long time, she stands up to leave, and realizes her face is wet.

She walks home quickly, or, at least, it feels quick to Annie. The crew is setting up huge lights now, taller than she is. She ignores them as she walks in the door, and they ignore her.

“Annie!” An excited shout, followed by a pale pink blur pulling her into itself, can only mean one thing.

“Hi, Mena,” she says, patting her on the back to avoid really hugging her. “Is the whole crew here?”

Her former escort dislodges herself and holds her at arm’s length. Her wig, like her outfit, is pink. Everything about her pops. The lightness of her clothing, with her dark skin, makes her glow. This was probably the point. Her eyes are painted the same color, her eyelashes inhumanly long with little pink gems at the corners, but her lips are blended in with the rest of her face. The contrast is a little jarring.

“Yes,” Mena answers, looking her up and down. “And they have some work to do. If you want to point me to your jewelry, I’ll get it all set up for you.”

The next few hours are a haze. She shows Mena the bin with her necklaces in it, and the spot in the living room she was going to set them up in. She starts to help, but then Stella, her stylist, sweeps in, flanked by her prep team, all dressed in slim black clothes. They pull Annie away after a few short greetings, all the way into her bedroom upstairs.

She remembers the first time they worked on her. She was a different person then, a whole lifetime ago, but she sits, silently, in the same way while they brush her hair and wash her and wax her and pluck her and paint her. She doesn’t remember their names, and she doesn’t care enough to ask. They barely even talk to each other this time. She is the Poor Mad Girl, and everyone, even the people on her team, believes that story.

When they finish, Stella puts her in a long dress covered with shells. Her skin is smooth and flawless, her makeup shimmering in the light without overpowering her face. Her hair is braided in a long circle around her head, like a dark crown dotted with pearls and small shells.

She’s lead downstairs, where Mena is waiting, chatting with some of the camera operators. Annie’s fitted for a mic, and then it’s show time.

They start by following her around for a quick tour of her house. They linger on the table with her necklaces, all made from shells and wire and twine. Those are her talent. That’s, supposedly, what she’s doing with her time now that she’s a Victor. She speaks half-heartedly, always making sure there’s an edge to her voice. She is the Poor Mad Girl, and the whole country has to know it.

They move on quickly. No one wants to be there for longer than necessary. She’s lead outside. The sun is just beginning to set. They give her an earpiece, so she can hear Caesar Flickerman’s voice and respond to it.

The interview is short. She looks in various cameras and answers benign questions. Yes, she’s excited for her tour. Yes, she’s grateful for everything the Capitol has given her. _Look fragile_ , she reminds herself throughout. _Look scared. You could crumble into nothing at any second, and the whole country needs to know it._

When it’s finally over, the camera crews quickly leave. Mags invites Stella, Mena, and the prep team to stay for dinner: a thick beef stew, with some of the green seaweed bread of District 4 on the side. Annie can feel Finnick dart several quick glances at her, but she still doesn’t look at him. No one talks much, not even Mena. When it’s over, everyone stands up, thanks Annie and Mags, and heads for the front door. She’s so anxious to get everyone out that she almost pushes them out.

The door clicks shut, echoing around the room. Everyone is gone, including Mags, and she’s alone again. Exhaustion suddenly settles onto Annie’s shoulders. She turns, without saying anything, and heads for the stairs.

“Are you going to bed already?”

Annie winces. She didn’t know he was still here. He was supposed to leave with everyone else. She stops and turns to look at him, really look at him, for the first time tonight. He’s almost ragged. His cheekbones stick out more than they should, like they always do when he comes back from the Capitol. He barely eats while he’s there, he told her that once. His eyes are puffy and ringed with dark circles.

This was almost her fate. They could’ve come home together last night, both of them starved and depressed and crying. Instead it was just him. He saved her from that. He saved her from the Capitol citizens, from their demands, and all the ways they’d use her body. She wants to run to him now, and wrap her arms around him and just hold him. She wants to kiss his face and tell him he’s safe, he’s not there anymore. He’s here, and he’s home, and he’s safe with her.

But….

“Yeah,” she says, placing her foot on the bottom step. “I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s understandable.”

“Thanks,” she replies, awkwardly.

He takes a tentative step towards her, then another when she doesn’t move.

“Well,” he says. “Let’s go to sleep?”

She nods and turns to walk up the stairs. Of course he wants to sleep here tonight. He would’ve last night, too, but he got home so late that he didn’t want to wake her. Or so she assumes. She can feel him moving behind her, each step he takes, up the stairs and down the hall, until they’re in the same bedroom, only a few feet from each other. She watches as he chews on his thumbnail.

“Do you want the wall tonight?” she asks.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s fine.”

Finnick pulls open a drawer, his drawer, on her dresser. He pulls out some sleeping clothes and walks back out the door. He changes in the bathroom, always, even at his house. Annie doesn’t know if it’s for her privacy or his. She pulls off the interview dress and tosses it on the floor, where it clatters into a heap. She grabs her night dress off her dresser and slips into it, then undoes the decorations in her hair.

She climbs into bed, leaving a large gap between herself and the wall. This bed is a lot bigger than her old one. Even with her and Finnick sharing it, they could easily fit another person in with them.

After a few minutes, there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she calls out, and Finnick enters the room again. He shuffles across the floor and slides into the bed with his back to the wall.

For a long time, neither of them does anything. There’s nothing but the sound of gentle breathing. Not even the ocean noises are coming in tonight.

“I really missed you,” Finnick says, finally, breaking the still, silent air between them. Annie turns over so she can face him.

“I know,” she answers.

“I miss you every time I go… there.”

“I know.”

He reaches across the small space to smooth his hand down her cheek and curl his fingers between hers. Instinctively, she pulls her hand away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing, I….” She looks at him. His eyebrows are knit together. He looks so thin and so tired…. “Nothing.”

“Okay.”

“I had a rough day.”

He almost laughs at that.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

She shakes her head as best she can.

“Not like your day was any easier.”

He reaches, again, for her hand, but stops halfway and pulls back.

“Maybe I should let you sleep alone tonight,” he says after a short pause.

Her initial reaction is relief. _Yes, good_ , she thinks. _Go to another room. Give me some space_. But, then, she feels a light breeze on her face, and remembers the ocean outside, and her nightmares. What would she do, if she woke up screaming and he wasn’t there? It’s different when he’s in the Capitol, but to have him here, at home, and not sleeping two feet away from her?

“No, please,” she replies. “Stay here.”

To her surprise, he lets out a short breath and pushes himself upright.

“Here’s the problem, Annie,” he begins. “You can’t have these things both ways. You can’t hate me or punish me or blame me for your problems, or whatever it is you’ve been doing to me, and then also have me cater to your needs.”

“What does that mean?” she snaps, also pushing herself up.

“It means… we need to figure out what we are. We need to figure out what we’re doing and how we… really feel.” There’s a long pause and then he adds, “I’m going to sleep in the other room tonight.”

He pushes and slides himself out of bed and walks across the room with slow, deliberate steps.

“Finnick?”

He stops.

“What, Annie?”

“What if the ocean floods everything while I’m sleeping?”

He looks back at her, but she can’t make out his face from where she is.

“Then you deal with it, Annie. Like the rest of us do.”

The door creaks open and clicks when it shuts, and, for the umpteenth time in six months, Annie Cresta feels really, truly alone.


	2. Johanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In District 7, Johanna Mason goes through her daily training routine.

Johanna is up with the sun, as always, and she rolls immediately into her boots. They’re soft but stable. They support her. They fit perfectly on her feet, and no one else’s. Her brother, Cole, is still asleep beside her. She’s never woken him up, not once in her life, which is the point.

Her game is stealth. Without absolute silence and careful movements, she’ll end up just another dead Tribute.

Cole has a similar plan, she knows, but he’s only 13. He’s less likely to be Reaped. His training isn’t nearly as rigorous, not by a long shot. And Johanna likes her training that way. Her sisters didn’t train as hard as she does either, but they’re both beyond Reaping age now.

She glances back at Cole. The Reaping is still six months away, but he should be getting ready. He should have a plan. She really should wake him up, but she doesn’t. He won’t be Reaped this year. 13-year-olds almost never get Reaped. When the Games are three months away, that’s when she’ll start pushing him.

Johanna pulls her jacket on, and her hair back, and slinks out the bedroom door.

The kitchen is silent and empty this morning, but with signs of life. One chair is pushed back, away from the table. Two rough stone mugs sit on the counter. One of them is still half-full, but the tea has long gone cold. The door to her parents’ room is open ajar. They’re already up and about, undoubtedly at work. Her sisters’ door is closed, though. They both managed to get jobs in town that don’t start until later, sometimes even noon. They’ll be sleeping in for as long as possible.

She breathes in the cold morning air and lets the silence surround her. The house is only like this at this time. After her parents leave and before her siblings get up, Johanna gets to live alone, just for a few minutes. Even as she stands there, she can hear the unmistakable sounds of talking coming from her sisters’ room. She quickly grabs a chunk of bread from the loaf on the counter and an apple from the fruit bowl, and slips through the front door.

The rising sun washes the entire world in gold, which is a nice change of pace from all the brown. Brown wood houses, brown dirt, brown factories. Everything in the neighborhood is brown. Brown like trees and mud. Sometimes the water is even brown. At dawn, though, it’s gold and glittering. Dew covers the few plants, mostly weeds, that have been able to poke up between the houses. The sun touches the dew, and the brown, and transforms all of it. She takes a deep breath in, inhaling the gold light, and starts walking, not down the road into town, but up.

Her neighborhood is on the very outskirts of their little section of town. The road stops at her house, halfway up their hill. Beyond it is nothing but more hill until you hit the fence, and beyond that is Johanna’s favorite place.

She pauses behind the house to stuff her food down her shirt, and tuck her shirt into her wool leggings, before jogging up to the top of the hill and dropping into a crouch to watch the road. It’s empty. It usually is, but she can’t take the chance. If she gets caught by a Peacekeeper, that’s the end of her training.

No more training means she will die in the Arena, and that will not happen.

She stands again and jogs down the hill, stopping short of the wire fence. Technically, it should be electrified, but it never is, and probably never will be. There’s not much beyond it, and nowhere to run. Johanna’s heard rumors about other Districts, 11 probably, and 12, that have electrified fences with round the clock surveillance. But, then, those people have places to run outside their District boundaries.

The Peacekeepers monitor the perimeters, sometimes, but they’re not that concerned with people getting out. They used to be, according to her parents, back when there was a forest beyond the fence. When they were kids, the forest was huge. They made a game out of it with the rest of the kids: who could get past the fence without getting caught. Her mother was the only one who never got caught, not once. Probably because her mom, Johanna’s grandmother, made her train like this, too.

Now, though, it’s unrecognizable. Or so she assumes.

The last of the trees from this area have been cut down, stripped down, and sent to the Capitol for paper and kindling for fires. The field now stretches out for a couple miles, dotted with tree stumps, most of which are half-rotten at this point.

She glances behind her one more time, then undoes the fastenings she put on years ago, after she got caught climbing it by the Peacekeepers. They’re small and unassuming; unless you look closely, you’d have a hard time spotting the silver wire strands holding the fence together. The Peacekeepers never look closely. She pushes the fence out and climbs through the small opening she made for herself, then turns to set it back in place.

Once the fastenings are back on, she turns out toward the field, and she runs. Everything she does has to be out of sight. If she gets caught, she will die.

Her feet slip while she runs, but she’s used to these tangled roots. She adjusts herself easily. She knows this field. Some days she feels like it belongs to her. No one is out here as much as she is. No one knows it like she does.

Tiny green shoots stick out between cracks in the stumps. This happens from time to time, but the new growth always dies pretty quickly. There’s no room for it in this world. Not the way it is.

She reaches her favorite spot in a matter of minutes, and digs the food out of her shirt to devour it in just a few bites. She drops the apple core on the ground and grinds it with her heel, just to feel it.

She takes a deep breath and looks around her. Off in the distance, the treeline jumps up abruptly, going from a pattern of stumps to full-grown pines and firs. She lets her breath out and it dissipates around her in a fog. She hadn’t realized how cold it is when she left the house. It’s going to snow soon, maybe today. That’ll make her training harder, but not impossible. There have been so many mornings where she runs into her house, cheeks bright red, body half-frozen.

_You’re never going to get Reaped, Johanna_ , her sister Valerie told her once. _You’re going to kill yourself before the Capitol can do it_.

Well, she might be right about that.

“My death will be mine, though, and not theirs,” she tells herself.

That’s the point of her training, after all. That’s what her mom said to her, the day she turned 11. The day she started training. It’s not about winning, and it’s not about playing along. It’s about dying your own death.

Her mother was never Reaped. Neither was her father, or either of her sisters. All four of them have jobs, so Johanna’s name isn’t in the bowl more times than necessary. The odds, more likely than not, are in Johanna Mason’s favor.

But she will be damned if she doesn’t get to be in charge of her own death.

She stretches up, cracking her back, and pulls each knee close to her chest. She’s preparing to run again, all the way to the trees. They’re about a mile away. Probably a little more. But that run is how she starts every single day. She takes another deep breath and pushes away from the ground with her front foot, letting it propel her forward.

Cole calls her a robot sometimes. It feels accurate, especially in this moment.

She recites her persona to herself while she runs.

She has to present herself like a Career. That’s what will get her sponsors. Those are the people who get sponsors. Those are the people who stay alive. Because that is her goal, really. Her mother just wants her to die clean, to go in the Arena with her head held high, but that’s not enough. If she gets Reaped, she has to win. There’s no other option for her. Call it force of habit, but she wants to live.

When she reaches the trees, she immediately jumps onto one and begins to climb it. She’ll undoubtedly have to pull this exact move in the Arena, so she practices it whenever she can.

And the Arena will, almost definitely, have trees. It’s different every year, but no trees means no cover. One year, it was in the desert. Half the Tributes were dead on the first day. With nowhere to hide, the Careers had an easy time hunting all of them down. The winner that year was crowned in only four days, after most of the Tributes had easily killed each other and the rest died of dehydration. There were a lot of complaints about those Games. They weren’t fun enough. The Tributes died too easily. From then on, the Gamemakers made sure the Arena had some sort of natural shelter.

The Capitol doesn’t just want to watch 23 kids die every year. They want to watch each one get hunted down. They want it to be a sport.

Johanna’s foot slips on a knot. She grimaces and pulls it back up, higher, then moves her hands, then her other foot, higher and higher and higher, until she can swing one leg over the lowest branch, about 15 feet in the air, and plant herself there. The branch creaks, just a little, under her weight, but she sits on it anyway.

Her breath is coming, fast and heavy. Sweat starts to trickle from her hairline, down her neck. Her cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Every muscle in her body aches, but in a dull, sweet way.

This is the only time Johanna truly knows she’s alive. Little hairs are plastered to her face with sweat. Her hands shake with adrenaline. Little spots pop in her peripheral vision. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

She sits back against the tree to catch her breath. She wishes now that she’d had some water this morning. There’s a throbbing ache in her side. She should’ve waited longer after eating. She should’ve brought Cole with her. He needs to start getting serious about this.

She takes another deep breath and envisions her next steps from here. Next she’ll need to practice landing. She glances down. This tree is a little taller than the ones she normally picks, but it shouldn’t be a problem. She’s jumped and landed from higher surfaces. Then she’ll run back to the field to train with her ax. And then she’ll go home.

That’s the routine. Same thing every day.

Somewhere, just barely within her earshot, there’s a _crack_ of a boot snapping a branch. Loud, low voices follow it, possibly a laugh.

_Just workers_ , she tells herself. _Scouts looking for good trees_.

She dangles her legs off the edge of the branch, though, ready to pounce. Her heart flutters in her ear. Her side aches. The voices get closer.

They won’t see her, though. She’s well-hidden. These are her trees. This is her time. No one will bother her.

She remembers the first time she ever came into these trees with her mom. Some Peacekepers had followed them, but they hid up in the branches until they gave up and left.

Her mom taught her how to hide, how to run, how to hunt, how to fall. How to kill. How to survive. No one is going to bother her.

The voices get closer.

Flashes of white appear between the trees, and Johanna freezes.

Peacekeepers. They must be doing some kind of routine check.

She fits her feet under herself and stretches up, reaching for the next branch, but the one under her cracks under her sudden jostling weight. She jumps, reaching, scraping her palms when they hit the branch. The one she was just sitting on snaps and drops to the ground.

“Hey, there’s someone over there!”

“Where?”

“In that tree!”

The sound of boots hitting the ground reaches her. She tries to lift herself up onto the branch, but this one also cracks and snaps, and then Johanna is hurtling toward the ground.

_Bend your knees_ , she tells herself. _No, that’s not right._

She can’t remember how to land.

She can’t remember what to do. Every impulse, every memory, is frozen in place. She’s never landed from a fall like this before. She’s always in control, and in a seated position.

“Hey!” one of the Peacekeepers yells.

She twists in midair, and hits the ground with a thud and a sickening crack. She can’t hear herself screaming, but she must be. A flock of birds takes off from a tree a little ways away.


	3. Lark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie's tour stops in District Eight

Lark stares down at her, cold and unforgiving, from behind her family. It takes all of Annie’s energy to look away, but her eyes dart back and forth from her note cards to the huge screen with the dead girl’s face.

The face of the girl she killed.

Her mother cries, silently, holding onto a younger girl who looks like a younger Lark. Two Larks are staring at her, full of pain and anger. There’s no one else in that little family. A huge part of their daily life was ripped away from them when she killed Lark. A person they loved, who they’ll never see again.

Because of her.

Every District before this one, every speech she made, felt forced. In 12, her very first, she had to remind herself to be broken. The crowd was overwhelming, and the pictures of the dead…. She’d had to look out across all those people, all those uncaring faces, and all she wanted to do was hide from them. She wanted to go home and stop this charade, because it felt completely pointless. Every day on this tour, she’ll get dressed up, get her hair and makeup done, just to fall apart in front of the entire country.

She had to, though. Snow killed her parents because she refused him. If she didn’t keep acting crazy in front of the cameras, he’d kill… someone. Who could he kill now? Her parents were her only family. Sebastian and Hera were already dead. He could kill her, but she wouldn’t mind that. At that point, standing on the stage in District 12, there was no one left for him to hurt if he wanted to teach her a lesson.

Then Finnick had come up behind her. He’d laid his hands on her one arm and whispered, _it’s okay, Annie, it’s okay, but you have to say something_.

And she remembered that she had at least one person left.

This left her back where she started: staring at all the people, remembering how to be ruined instead of just nervous. Somewhere in that crowd, she saw a young girl with dark hair clutching an even younger blonde girl. The blonde girl had wide, sad eyes, but the older one looked angry. Everyone else in the crowd looked blank or worried or bored, except these two.

Maybe they knew the Tributes that Ivory had killed. Maybe they blamed her for their deaths. They were probably good people, and strong, but they’re dead, while this broken shell of a girl stands before them giving a speech about the fairness and generosity of the Capitol.

The tears came easily then, and the rest of the act followed.

It was easy to pretend after that. The other Districts were a little tougher, but thinking about those two girls helped bring her into the right headspace.

Even District 9 didn’t feel like this one, even though she faced another broken family that was her fault. That girl died so quickly, though. All of it happened so fast, and she had snuck up on them. She’d been planning, with her Partner, to kill them, and her plan didn’t work. Annie never even knew her name, and she’d killed her. It wasn’t as hard to look at her family, though. Her parents, her two brothers, her sister. They only stared at her. The girl’s picture behind them didn’t seem to hate her, not like Lark’s.

Is she making that up? Or is it a trick from the Capitol?

The dead girl’s eyes bore into her, her face framed with long strands of red hair. She looks fierce and unrelenting.

_It’s only a picture_ , Annie tells herself. _Lark is dead. She’s gone. She’s buried somewhere in this District. I killed her myself. I felt her die. I felt her blood on my hands._

Her hands begin to shake, though, and she can barely read Mena’s cards.

“Um,” she says into the microphone. “Um, I…. The Tributes from this District, they fought bravely.”

Lark’s sister, the tiny version of her, presses her face into her mother. For a moment, she can see her doing the same thing to Lark. She can see Lark at home; cooking with her mom, playing with her sister, laughing and smiling with friends. She only wanted to get home to her family, just like everyone else, and Annie killed her. It wasn’t self-defense, like the girl from 9. It was revenge for Hera. It was murder.

She glances down at her hands. They shake even harder. These hands, these exact hands, killed the girl on that screen. The cards drop from them, landing on the stage with a small clatter.

“I’m sorry,” she says suddenly. She meets the mother’s hard stare, and feels a few tears roll down her cheek. “I’m so sorry for what I did. I’m sorry I killed your daughter.”

Hands wrap around her arms then, to pull her back into the building, but she doesn’t care. There isn’t much else for her to say to these people.

Her entire Victory Tour is a sham, and she knows that. She walks onstage for a minute, falls apart, and then leaves. Her job is to make the people of Panem feel weak, or stuck, or like nothing’s ever going to change, or all three. So far, she’s done a good job. There have been no cheers for her. No potential rebels could look to her; no people could find hope in her. That’s all she has to do on this Tour.

“Convincing,” Finnick murmurs when the Peacekeepers plant her in front of him. He takes her elbow and starts walking with her, down the long hall, back to the train so they can both get ready for dinner.

“I learned from the best,” she murmurs back. He almost smiles at that.

Once they reach the train, though, he drops all civility. He doesn’t say a thing to her. He only lets go of her arm and walks back to his own compartment.

She’s used to this behavior at this point in the tour. In fact, he’s barely said a word to her since their fight, the night before they left. It’s been almost a week now of awkward silences filled in with Mena’s eager instruction on public speaking, and sideways glances, and his constant knot-tying.

Annie reflects on this while she gets ready for dinner. Stella couldn’t come along on the tour. (“I have a very important show in the Capitol,” she’d told Annie, beaming with pride. “Otherwise I’d be right beside you.”) She’d left all the tour outfits in one half of the huge closet, with little notes telling her when to wear each one. She pulls out the dress marked “Eight—Dinner” and lays it on her bed. It’s knee-length, bright, and multi-patterned. District 8 is in charge of textiles, so this makes sense. She shimmies out of today’s outfit (a simple pantsuit, similar to the uniforms she saw the citizens of 8 wearing) and pulls on the colorful dress. Then her prep team comes in to touch up her hair and fix her makeup. They talk at her, but she doesn’t listen. She should probably talk to them eventually, or at least listen to what they’re saying, but she can’t bring herself to care. Their conversations are so simple, so boring. It’s all about clothes and makeup and hair.

Ever since she got out of the Arena, none of those things matter to her at all. Her life has become all about coping. How can she talk about the color of her eyes or the curl of her hair when she can barely sleep at night? Or when one of the only people she cares about won’t talk to her because she’s always pushing him away?

Dinner is boring. It’s the same as every other dinner they’ve had in every other District. The Mayor and his family invite them in, they sit, they eat. There are a few important people from the Capitol, people who happen to be visiting District 8. She picks at her food and watches as they flirt with Finnick. She watches him flirt back. It looks so natural, but she knows better. She can feel his discomfort, like it’s an extension of hers. _Maybe it is_ , she thinks.

Part way through the meal, he catches her eye, and her stomach jumps. She thought those feelings were gone. She thought they’d left with the rest of her, somewhere in that pool of her parents’ blood, spreading across the floor, soaking into the rug. There lie her parents, along with her humanity and any ounce of joy she might’ve had.

She swallows, hard, to get rid of the lump in her throat, but it doesn’t matter. All eyes are on Finnick, and crying would only help her image. She pushes her food around some more and lets a few tears escape.

He said, the night before they left, that they need to figure out what they are. She’s tried to push it back and deny it for so long, but she can’t. She knows exactly what she wants them to be, and she knows they can’t be that. She still has feelings for him, and she wants to be with him.

She has to tell him, even though it can’t happen. She misses him too much. With Mags being too sick to come on the Tour, and Stella in the Capitol, there’s no one else she can talk to. It’s Finnick, or Mena, and she can’t talk to Mena about any of this. Finnick’s the only one who understands her right now, and she can’t push him away anymore.

After dinner, they go back to the train, which immediately starts moving again. It’s a long ride to District 7, and they have to be there tomorrow afternoon.

Annie changes into pajamas and rubs the makeup off her face until her skin feels raw, then slips out her door, down to the other side of the train.

She has to talk to him. She needs him back in her life.

She leans in his doorway and knocks. After a long pause, the door slides open. Finnick stands with his arms crossed, barely looking down at her.

“What, Cresta?” he asks.

“Oh, are we back to that now?” she returns. “Can I come in?”

He doesn’t move for a moment, then lets out a long breath through his nose.

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk.”

“We can do that here—“

“—No, we can’t. I want to talk… you know, privately.”

She crosses her own arms, drawing herself up to her full height. Finnick still towers over her. She swears she can see the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Fine.” He steps aside, letting her into the room. It’s almost identical to hers. This shouldn’t surprise her, but it does.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she says before he can do anything. “You’re right. I haven’t been treating you very fairly, and I’m sorry. This tour is… well, it’s miserable without talking to you.”

“It’d be miserable if you were talking to me.”

“Yeah, but, less miserable.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything for a long time. She thinks they’re already done when he opens his mouth.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says, wringing his hands together. He misses his rope. “I—If I had—I’m the reason your parents are dead and I’m the reason you’re on this tour. I’m the reason you’re so miserable right now, Annie. You had every right to treat me the way you did.”

She shakes her head. If she said anything, he’d only disagree with her, so she doesn’t say anything. Neither does he. They stand there, silently, listening to the train slide over the track towards the next District.

“I like you, Finnick,” she says after awhile. “I really care about you. I’ve been trying not to, but I…. I do.”

She looks up at him, biting her top lip. The past six months, they’ve shared a bed without any hint of affection. The past six months, she’s been hiding all of this from him, and herself. He’s looking back at her. She has no idea what he’s thinking. The corners of his mouth poke up like he wants to smile.

“I like you, too, Annie.” Her heart starts beating a little faster. He reaches one hand out, like he’s going to take hers, but then pulls it back. “I, um…. We need to be careful. We can’t—“

“I know,” she says. “But, if we could…. I’d really want to be with you.”

She takes his hand in both of hers.

“I’ve never wanted to _be_ with anyone,” he murmurs. “I’ve always _had_ to. People have never really interested me. Not in that—not….”

She takes a step closer and squeezes his hand.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head and drops his gaze to their clasped hands.

“I’ve never felt this way. About anyone. But I feel it about you.”

His other hand smoothes over hers, winding its way through her fingers.

“Same here,” she says. She doesn’t mean to whisper, but that’s how it comes out.

When he looks back up at her, there are tears in his eyes, but he seems to be happy, really happy, for the first time since she’s known him. She can’t help but smile at that.


	4. It's Not Their Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johanna and her family go to see the Victory Tour's stop in District Seven

Johanna hates her new cast, hates her crutches, hates her leg, and hates herself, in that order. Since her accident, her mother has made her stop training. Her cast makes it impossible to sneak out. Her crutches are so clunky. They make walking a chore and running flat-out impossible. Her leg can’t even be moved, not until everything heals correctly. According to the Capitol doctors, that could take awhile. Up to six months, even.

And she’s the idiot who forgot how to land when her life depended on it.

It’s her own fault that she fell. It’s her own fault that she was found by Peacekeepers. It’s her own fault she ended up in the hospital, instead of with a healer.

It’s her own fault that her family has to pay all the hospital bills now. Even with four of them working, there’s barely ever enough money to cover everything. And, because of her own stupidity, they’ll have to cover even more now. Housing, bills, food, clothes, water, all for six people, and now the hospital. Because of her.

They’ll go hungry a lot over the next few months, she knows that. Their meals have never been spectacular, but they’ve been constant. And she’s taken that away. She remembers, once, when they were all still in school, her parents ran out of money and couldn’t afford food for a few days. All four of them went to school hungry. Some kids got lunches there, those who could afford it, and they all had to sneak bites off their friends’ plates.

There haven’t been many bad days since Valerie and Amy started working, but there have been a few. There are going to be lots, though. Johanna can feel it. Her family is going to starve if she doesn’t do anything.

And she will do something today. She hasn’t discussed it with anyone. They’ll only try to stop her.

She stands now before the little mirror in her bedroom, balancing on her good leg while she does her best to brush her hair. It’s thick and dark, just like her dad’s. A lot of her features come from her dad. His small eyes and full lips. His brown skin. She’d never given much thought to her genes.

A knock at the door makes her jump.

“Yeah?” she calls out.

It opens, and her mom steps in. Her long brown hair is pulled back, away from her face, and she’s wearing the only dress she owns.

“You ready? We have to go.”

“Why do I have to go? Can’t I get a note or something?”

Her mom purses her lips and walks over to pull the brush from her hands.

“You have to go,” she tells her. “We all have to. You know that.”

“This one’s so sad, though,” Johanna complains. “Can’t I stay here?”

“So you can sneak off and break your other leg? Not a chance.”

Johanna groans, but picks up her crutches and follows her mother out of the room. She was hoping she could stay behind. That would make things easier. The rest of her family is in the main room already, wearing nice clothes and looking awkward. _Masons weren’t made to dress up and be fancy_ , her dad told her once with a huge grin. _We’re made for dirt and old leather boots and rough stuff_.

Despite that, he’s always excited, even now, for their unappealing day. This is one trait Johanna wishes she’d inherited from her father. His enthusiasm for everything, no matter what. He always finds the bright side of things. She takes after her mother in this regard, though. Quiet, cautious, and a little neurotic when faced with the unknown.

As they leave, Johanna moving a lot slower than everyone else, her brother, Cole, falls in line with her.

“I feel like an idiot,” Johanna says to the rhythm of her crutches. There’s a _thunk,_ when the rubber notches hit the ground, and a _crunch_ when she swings her foot beyond them into the dirt road.

“You _look_ like an idiot,” Cole teases. _Thunk_. “How long do you have in those things?”

“I don’t know,” Johanna answers. _Crunch_. “Until they tell me I can walk again.”

“What are you going to do about training?”

“I don’t know.” _Thunk_. “I need a new plan.”

“I’ll help you, if you want,” Cole says. _Crunch_.

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course. I know how important it is to you.”

They don’t say anything for the rest of the walk. It’s a long one. They live towards the edges of the District, at least 20 minutes from the center of town, and that’s without the crutches.

When they finally arrive, the anthem is just starting. They’re the last to arrive. Johanna can’t even see her family through the crowd. The same stage where they have the Reapings is up, but hanging behind it are banners from District 4. A large sign over all the people on stage proclaims that it’s the 70th annual Victory Tour. Sometimes they have the Victor’s name or face on banners, but that’s not the case this year, and Johanna can see why.

The Mayor is onstage, and his family, and a few Peacekeepers. Towards the back, Finnick Odair leans, casually, against the frame of the stage, like all of this is beneath him. It probably is. He’s probably resenting time spent away from the adoring masses in the Capitol. Johanna always thought he was attractive.

She glances around the crowd, and spots her parents and sisters, a little ways in. Val leans over to Amy and whispers something. They both smile, and Johanna knows they’re talking about Finnick. They were always big fans of his.

At the center of the stage, behind a microphone, stands Annie Cresta. She looks even smaller in person, like she’s spent the last six months trying to shrink herself. Her eyes are wide. She fiddles with the microphone stand. She chews on her lip. She runs her hands through her long, dark hair, mussing up the stylish up-do that probably took hours to get in place. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears.

“I feel so bad for her,” Cole whispers to her.

“Really?” Johanna looks from her brother to the girl onstage. She doesn’t really feel pity for her. It’s more like embarrassment. “I don’t.”

“Look at what she went through. I don’t think anyone could come out of the arena and still be okay.”

“Last year wasn’t any worse than usual,” she says, still watching Annie fidget with her clothes and hands and microphone. “No, she’s just weak. She started out strong, but now she’s… pathetic.”

The anthem ends before Cole can reply, and Annie taps the microphone, sending a wave of feedback through the speakers.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Um, I’m Annie Cresta. Victor of the 70th Hunger Games.”

Light applause greets her, but it fizzles out quickly.

“I-I didn’t know either of the Tributes from Seven,” she stammers. “One of them stabbed me during the bloodbath. But, um, they both died during the bloodbath. So I didn’t… know them….”

Johanna shifts on her crutches, repositioning her stiff hands. Her skirt is bunched up around her cast. She smoothes it out.

“I’m sure they fought bravely, though. Well, one of them did for sure. I have the scar to prove it.”

She laughs a little at her own failed attempt at a joke. The crowd is silent.

Johanna knew the girl Tribute from last year. Not well, but they were the same age at school. Her name was Violet. She was nice. She remembers watching her die and not feeling that bad about it. She’d watched people die before, people she knew better than Violet.

“Um, anyway…. I wanted to say that your Tributes were brave. And, um, they… They, um….”

She bites at her lip and stares at a point above the crowd. After a moment, Finnick steps forward. He covers the microphone and murmurs something. Annie nods, still staring at that point. He takes her arm and leans into the microphone.

“Sorry, everyone, but Miss Cresta is done for the day,” he says before leading her off. He grasps her forearm in a surprisingly delicate gesture for someone like him. Once they’re gone, the Peacekeepers disperse the crowd.

It’s now or never.

“Look, there’s mom,” she says to Cole, pointing in the direction she last saw Val and Amy.

“Where?”

“Right there, Cole.” She points again, this time actually finding her mother. They’re being pushed back, jostled by the people around them, thousands of them it feels like, further into town. Their family is moving back towards their house.

“Go get them. I’ll catch up,” she says, and Cole nods. He winds himself easily through the crowd, but it’ll still take him some time to reach their parents. Johanna watches him for a moment, making sure he’s not going to turn around, and then lets the current of humans push her into town. Most people like to run errands after mandatory meetings, since they’re already down here. She moves with them. _This is only an errand_ , she tells herself. _Just something I need to do._

She sees town hall down the block, a huge stone building, and points herself towards it.

She doesn’t remember much of what happened after her fall. Flashes of white. Some people yelling. She remembers asking to go home, but they took her to the hospital anyway. If she’d been found by workers, they would’ve brought her home and gotten a District 7 healer to fix her up. She was found by Peacekeepers, though, which meant a trip to the hospital and the Capitol doctors.

They took a screening of her leg, put her under, and did surgery on her knee. She has to check in every two weeks, to see how she’s healing. If she doesn’t go to her check ups, they’ll drag her in.

She’d never been to the hospital before. No one in her family had. It’s a District-wide, mostly unspoken agreement: they’ll take care of injuries amongst themselves. Their healers don’t have as many resources, but they can do everything the Capitol doctors can. Well, almost everything. Life-threatening injuries, major surgeries, organ failures, things like that require hospital visits. The hospital is the last resort, though.

No one can afford the hospital. That’s sort of the point. People who have to go to the hospital either starve, or their kids have to get tesserae, and that’s what the Capitol wants. Enter your name as many times as possible. Get Reaped. Face your death. And now her family is part of that group. The starving group. The dying group.

This is her fault. Her accident. Her hospital bill. Her fault they have no money. Her problem to fix.

She _thunk_ s into town hall, finds the right room, and waits in a short line. When she gets to the front, she sees Alice, one of the women from her neighborhood, behind the desk. Alice frowns at her.

“Do your parents know you’re here?” she asks.

Johanna balances on her good foot so she can shake out her hands.

“It’s not their choice,” she says, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. “It’s mine. And I need six tesserae.”


	5. Hera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie stops in District Three

The Arena is bigger than she remembers it being. The dam is higher up. She’s sitting on the edge of it, and she can feel how tall it is, even if she can’t see the ground. The water is bluer. Her feet dangle over it, stretching down to touch the still surface. The sun is brighter. It soaks into her skin and makes her squint her eyes. She thought she was done with this. The Games are over. She’s alive, the dam is destroyed, and she never has to go near this place again.

“Guess again,” a voice says next to her. She jumps and turns.

Holiday.

“You’re dead,” Annie tells her.

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious,” Holiday replies, gesturing to herself. Her body is soaked. Her clothes and hair stick to her. There’s a long gash that wraps halfway around her head, her arm is clearly broken, and one of her ribs is poking out through her side. “This is what that wave did to me. My death was quick, but don’t worry; I did still suffer.”

“That’s awful,” she murmurs, eyeing the dead girl’s rib. Holiday laughs.

“Spare me. I would’ve suffered either way. You were going to destroy the dam, mermaid girl, even if they didn’t. Or should I call you Mad Girl now?”

“Don’t—“

“—You _are_ talking to a dead person, after all,” Holiday says before Annie can protest. “This conversation isn’t helping Team Annie-Is-Sane all that much.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but can’t. Holiday is right.

Down below them, in the water, Leeri, from District 3, floats by. He looks even smaller in death. His eyes are open and blank, and there’s a wound in his chest that’s gushing blood.

“He never should’ve gone into the bloodbath,” Holiday says. “What chance does a kid that little have at the Cornucopia?”

“He needed supplies.”

“He should’ve waited.”

Annie doesn’t say anything to that, either.

After a long moment, another body floats by. And another, and another, and another. The girl from 7. Both of them from 12. Both from 11. All of the Tributes that Annie didn’t know. And then Titus floats by.

“I’m still pretty proud of that one,” Holiday tells her. “I had to undo his stitches a little at a time while you guys were gone. One of my smarter kills, if not my smartest.”

“Why are you here?” Annie asks.

Holiday doesn’t answer.

Titus leaves slowly, leaving a long trail of blood in the water. Then Romana floats by. Her arm is hacked off, and her head is holding on by just a thread of skin.

“She was tough,” Holiday says. “She’s a fighter. I’d hoped someone else would get her before I had to, but it all worked out. I guess she wasn’t _that_ tough.”

Next comes Lark and Andrea, floating next to each other. Lark’s neck is a ruin, same as Andrea’s stomach.

“What was it like to kill her?” Holiday asks. “And don’t give me your answer now that you’ve seen her family. When it happened, how did it feel?”

She remembers killing Lark. She remembers the blood on her hands, the way her knife slid into Lark’s throat.

“I don’t know,” she murmurs.

“Liar,” Holiday sneers. “Andrea was injured, so it wasn’t much of a fight, but I remember thinking, ‘I only have to kill one more person, and then I’m going home.’”

“You didn’t go home,” Annie reminds her, looking over at her for the first time in a long time.

She gives her a small, sad smile.

“No. I guess I didn’t.”

They sit in silence for awhile, until the next people float into view. Annie’s stomach sinks. She wants to scream. She wants to jump off the side of the dam. Not the side she’s facing, the side with the water, but the other side. She glances behind her, and sees only inky blackness. She could do it now.

“You still hate me, don’t you?” Holiday asks. “It’s fair. I still hate you.”

“I never did anything to you,” Annie snaps.

“Didn’t you?” Up until now, Holiday’s expression has been peaceful, even serene. Now, though, her eyes are growing wider and wider, and her whole face contorts into something angry and ugly. Something Holiday never was. “You killed my District Partner.”

“You killed mine!” Annie shouts, pointing into the water.

There below, Sebastian and Ivory float by them, side by side. Sebastian’s head is nestled in his hands.

“Ivory was trying to kill me. He—“

“Like Sebastian wouldn’t have killed me. This was your problem from the start, mermaid girl. _Mad_ girl—“

“—don’t—“

“—You wanted us all to get along, like we all could’ve survived that Arena. One person comes out, Annie, and now you know that better than any of us.”

“I didn’t think we would all survive.”

“Didn’t you?” Holiday looks down to the water. “Look what you did to him. He stuck up for you for a bit, but it wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Our group would’ve been the only group pretty quickly, and then we all would’ve killed each other anyway.”

Annie watches Sebastian float away, thinking about the last time she saw him. Her face feels hot and sticky, like his blood is still there. She reaches up to check, and her hand comes away smeared with red. She wipes it on her pants and rubs the rest off with her sleeve. There’s another body floating up out of the corner of her eye by the time she looks back, but she keeps watching Sebastian.

“I killed Titus to get her killed,” Holiday tells her, and then Annie knows whose body is coming next. “She was the only person in the Arena I was really scared of.”

When she can’t see Sebastian anymore, Annie turns back to watch the last body. Hera’s.

“But then you saved her from Romana. I was thinking up another plan, but then Lark killed her. You couldn’t save her then, mermaid girl.”

Hera’s long hair flows freely, in a way it never did in the Arena. She always kept it up and off her face. The arrow still sticks out from her body.

“Once she died, I knew I was going to win,” Holiday continues. “So how is it you won? You, of all people, who didn’t want to kill anyone? You just wanted us all to get along. You didn’t belong there. You volunteered to save that girl. What was her name? Twenny? You never should’ve gone, and you’re the one who lived. Poor little Annie. The girl who lost it in the Arena, because she’s _weak_ —“

“—I’m not weak—“

“—You are! You’re weak and you’re pathetic and you’re crazy. You lost your parents, you lost your friends, you lost yourself, and you’re going to lose Finnick, too. You’re the Poor Mad Girl, and that’s all you’ll ever be now.”

There’s a splash from the water. Hera emerges, glorious and glistening and bleeding. She lunges and wraps her hands around Holiday’s throat. She looks directly at Annie.

“Blow the dam, mermaid girl,” she tells her, and then she and Holiday disappear over the edge, into the blackness below.

The noise, the warning sound, pounds into her head. The dam begins to crumble beneath her. The noise cracks her bones. Her head is about to explode, and the dam collapses, carrying her away in a wave of dark bloody water and concrete. She begins to scream and flail, and her arm connects with flesh.

“Annie, hey, Annie, you’re okay.”

She sits bolt upright, flinging her limbs out. She needs to swim to the top. She needs to escape. She needs to get home. Her arm hits flesh again, and then something warm is wrapped around her.

“You’re right here,” a voice murmurs in her ear. “You’re on the train. You’re in bed. You’re not in the arena.”

She forces her breath out her nose, breath she doesn’t remember holding. The room begins to form around her. It’s mostly dark shapes. She reaches for whatever is wrapped around her, only to discover that it’s someone’s arms.

Finnick’s arms.

She looks up into his face. It’s lined with concern, and it’s the sweetest sight she’s seen all night.

“I was there. They were all there.”

“You’re not there. You weren’t there.” He pulls her into his chest and tangles his fingers through her hair. “You’re here with me. You’re safe, Annie. You’re safe.”

She forces herself to take a deep breath.

“I guess I’m more freaked out about the rest of this tour than I thought I was,” she says. She starts to lie back down, and he goes with her, still holding her against him. She lays her hand on his chest. His heart beats, a little fast, but steadily. His breath comes in and out.

“I still have those dreams,” he says, holding her a little tighter. “Mags does, too, sometimes. They never go away.”

“I don’t want to talk today,” Annie tells him. “Not here. Not for her.”

But she has to.

By the time the train pulls into the station at District 3, Annie is prepped and ready for her speech. Or, at least, to completely fall apart.

That’s been a little harder lately, with Finnick so constantly close by. She wants to sing. She wants to smile all the time and hug strangers and kiss babies and pick wildflowers. Since their conversation in District 8, they’ve been basically inseparable. Every night, they sleep together in Annie’s compartment, in her bed. It’s not the same way they were sleeping together before. Before, it was… tense. It was uncomfortable and unhappy.

Now, though, they hold each other. They fall asleep in each other’s arms, and wake up tangled together. Or holding hands.

He’s started standing on stage with her, and pulling her away when she has her breakdown. He sits next to her at each dinner, letting his leg brush against hers from time to time while he has to flirt with everyone else, while she has to sulk.

She’s never felt less like sulking. Despite everything that’s happened to her, despite all the people she’s watched die in the past six months, she feels… happy. Not completely happy, but definitely less sad. Less hopeless. Less like dying. She has something to look forward to now.

Except for today. Her dream is still running in her head when she walks on the stage, and up to the mic. Hera’s face stares down at her, like every other Tribute in every other District. Her picture has none of the warmth that Hera had, though. Her face is fierce and cold and unyielding, but that wasn’t Hera. Not entirely.

_Blow the dam, mermaid girl_. Those were Hera’s last words to her. Hera’s last words ever. And, suddenly, she can’t do this anymore. She can’t play by their game. She looks out at the crowd, at the faces staring up at her with pity and disgust and boredom, and she doesn’t want them to see her breaking down. She doesn’t want to be weak anymore.

She wants to blow the dam.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she says into the mic. She points at Hera’s face. “She’s the real Victor. She was the smartest of us all. She saved my life countless times, and in the end I couldn’t save her. She was going to be a Healer. She could’ve made a difference.”

She swallows, holding back the tears that want to flow from her. A montage plays in her head of everything Hera did in the Arena. Saving her, in the very beginning, when the girl from 7 stabbed her arm. Setting Sebastian’s broken leg. They all would’ve died a lot sooner if not for her. She helped when Annie was bitten by the snake mutts.

_Blow the dam, mermaid girl._

Even though she didn’t do it in the Arena, even though the Gamemakers got to it before she could, maybe she could still do it. It’s what Hera would’ve wanted.

“I didn’t know Leeri. He died quickly, from an arrow that was meant for me. And I’m sorry about that. But Hera was my friend. She was kind and smart. She was funny, even in the Arena. She was a fierce competitor. She’s the only one any of us were actually intimidated by.”

Annie balls her hands into fists. She doesn’t have to cry anymore.

“She should be here now. She should be alive. She should be laughing with her family and saving lives.”

_Blow the dam, mermaid girl_.

Something stops her from blowing it all the way, though. Some little voice in her head. A nudge in her stomach.

“She was my friend, and I miss her,” she finishes, lamely, before running off the stage, letting Finnick hurry behind her.

“What are you doing?” he hisses close to her ear. His hand hovers over her shoulder but never touches it. She walks a little faster, wanting to put as much distance as she can between herself and the stage.

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m crazy, remember? They aren’t listening to me either way.”

“They’re listening more than you think.” He pulls ahead of her and plants himself in her path. He crosses his arms and looks into her eyes. A bubble of anger pops in her guts. “You need to be careful. I can’t let you stand on stage and say things like that.”

“Or what?” She’s not angry with Finnick. She knows that. “Snow will kill my parents? He’ll throw me in the Hunger Games? I have nothing left to lose, Finnick. Snow’s taken everything from me already.”

She shoves past him, back to the train, trying not to focus on the hurt look on his face. She does have something left to lose. Or she thinks she does. She doesn’t want to think about that now, though.

They dress for dinner separately. It’s the only time they’ve really been apart the entire day. She wants to hold his hand while they walk to District 3’s town hall, but she doesn’t. He barely even looks at her. They walk in silence, with Mena, who’s looking less chipper by the day. Being the Mad Girl’s escort isn’t fun. It’s not supposed to be fun, and Mena has embraced her new role fully.

At the meal, Finnick sits on Annie’s one side, as usual, not mad enough to stay completely away, and Beetee Latier sits to the other. She was too young to remember when he won his Games, but she remembers his reputation. He electrocuted the remaining Tributes to win. The thought makes a shiver go down her back.

The meal is grand by District standards, but would be underwhelming in the Capitol. Annie doesn’t taste any of her food. She just swallows it, as usual. There’s potatoes and all kinds of meats and fancy salads. There’s a thick stew, and a spicy tomato soup, and plates full of different kinds of rice. There are cakes and little chocolates. She tries a little of everything, just to be polite. Finnick’s leg touches hers, more than once, and she has to stop herself from smiling.

At the end, while the plates are being cleared, everyone starts to chat. Annie usually spends this time staring sullenly at the wall. She fully expects to spend tonight doing that, but just as she picks out a good spot to stare at, Beetee turns to her.

“I don’t know if you know this,” he begins, pushing his glasses up his nose, “but I knew Hera quite well. I helped raise her, actually.”

“She told me,” Annie replies.

“I just wanted to thank you, for what you said.” He gives her a small, sad smile. “Your words were… painful, sure, but oddly comforting. I can see why you two got along.”

“You’re welcome.”

He shakes her hand, and then the meal is over. Everyone says their goodbyes, and returns to where they came from. Mena is more cheerful on their walk back, but Finnick is maintaining his stony silence.

The train is quiet that night, as it races over the tracks in the dark. Annie stares out her window and watches trees whip by her in blurs. She glances back at her empty bed. Finnick hasn’t said a word to her since their conversation after her speech. When they got back on the train, he went straight back to his own compartment, even though he’d been sleeping in hers.

_I don’t want any of this_ , she decides, staring at the spot where he should be. She doesn’t want to be the Mad Girl. She doesn’t want to bury herself in her own wreckage. She doesn’t want to blow the dam if it means destroying everything she has now. She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to be wrapped in Finnick’s arms and never go in front of a camera ever again. She wants him to help her. She wants to protect him.

She doesn’t need to volunteer for Finnick, though. He’s not a frightened child who’s been Reaped. He doesn’t need her help taking care of himself. He’s survived just as much as she has. He lost his parents when he was young. He went through his own Arena, at a younger age than she did. He spends half the year in the Capitol, being forced to do things Annie can’t even imagine.

Thinking about those things, all the people, he has to be with, makes Annie want to fight back. She doesn’t want to be the Mad Girl. She wants to just be Annie, and she wants him to just be Finnick.

Hera told her to blow the dam, but she never said she had to do it alone.

Annie pulls on a sweater over her sleeping clothes and walks out of her compartment, down to the far side of the train car. She stops outside Finnick’s door and hesitates.

He could get hurt. Everyone around her seems to get hurt, or worse. She can’t drag him into this crusade of hers. She doesn’t even have a plan.

But she can’t do this, any of it, alone.

She reaches out and knocks. After a moment, Finnick appears in the doorway. They stare at each other. All the words leave Annie’s head. She can’t talk to him about the dam or Hera or any of it. There’ll be time for that later. His eyes are ringed with dark circles, as usual.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “For what I said earlier. I—“

“I know,” he says. She holds out her hand and he takes it to lead her inside.


	6. No Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johanna gets help with her training

Johanna almost never dreams, but right now she is. Someone says her name, somewhere far away from her, and then something shakes her shoulder. She reaches out. Her hand connects to something solid: the source of the shaking. She shoves, hard, until the thing disconnects from her. It’s not a dream. Someone’s trying to wake her up. She pulls the pillow over her face and resolves to sleep more. It’s the weekend. There’s no school. She still can’t train, with her leg, and her parents have basically put her on house arrest since her stunt with the tesserae. She’s not moving unless she has to.

“Johanna.” Again. The shaking is back, harder this time. She tries to shove the thing away again, but it’s more firmly connected to her. “Jo, wake up.”

She removes the pillow from her face and throws it. The bright light of the room reaches in through her eyelids like they’re not even there. Slowly, she blinks herself into existence.

Cole is sitting next to her, one hand on her shoulder, the other clutching the pillow she just threw.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Everyone’s at work. Do you still want help with training?”

She waves his hand away and stretches herself into a sitting position.

She’d almost forgotten his offer to help her out. It feels like it happened ages ago, when she was a different person. Everything feels different to her now. She’s never been one to directly go against her parents like this. They trained her, so she trained. She’s never needed to question that before.

“Yeah, I do,” she tells her brother. “After the list, though.”

The night after the Victory Tour was an awkward one. Her parents had found her coming out of town hall, with her bag of extra grains and oil swinging from her crutch. All five of her family members had stared at her, eyes wide. No one said a word until they got home, but Johanna could feel them, every step of the way. Her mother was seething. She’d bitten her lip, the way she does when she’s frustrated, and her father kept moving his hands. For awhile he walked with them on his hips. Then his head. Then wringing together in front of him.

When they got home, Amy and Val went immediately out again, dragging Cole with them.

“I want to stay,” he’d said, struggling against them.

“They need to be alone,” Valerie told him.

“We’ll go for a walk,” Amy said, looking Johanna in the eye. “We’ll be back soon.”

They closed the door, and she was alone with her parents.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” her mom asked. She wasn’t yelling, though. That was the weird part about it.

“Yes,” she answered.

“We would’ve been okay.” Her mom looked sad more than anything. Like she’d moved beyond anger and right into fear. “We would’ve had a few tight months, but we would’ve been okay.”

“I know what a trip to the hospital costs,” Johanna said. “Let alone regular visits.”

“But, honey, you didn’t have to—“

“I wanted to,” Johanna blurted. “I wanted to help the family and make things right.”

“You had nothing to make up for,” her father said, sitting next to her. “You could’ve died falling out of that tree. We’re just happy you’re okay.”

They’d said that a few times, but Johanna didn’t quite believe it. She still doesn’t.

“I was just trying to fix my own mistake,” she said, not looking at either of them.

“Well, you have a horrible way of trying to help,” her mom snapped. Her dad said something low, only for her mother’s ears, but she ignored him. “I’m going to give you extra chores. You’ll get a list every day. If you want to help this family, you can do it by cleaning the house and chopping wood.”

“Chopping wood?” Johanna held up her crutches from where they were, leaning against the table. “How am I supposed to do that on crutches?”

“You just doubled your chances of being reaped,” her mom replied. “How are you supposed to get through the hunger games on crutches?”

That was the end of the discussion. Every day since has been similar to the one before it. School. Chores. Sleep. Repeat. It’s not the same as training. She’d much rather be running drills and practicing weapons, but it’s steady and oddly comforting all the same.

Cole smiles at her.

“There’s only one thing on it today.” He shoves the paper in her face. She snatches it and reads.

“Chopping wood? I’ve had to do that every day this week.”

“Well, mom knows what you hate.”

Johanna allows herself a small smile.

“Yes she does,” she says, mostly to herself.

They dress quickly. There’s not much for food. They each grab a slice of cheese from the cold windowsill, and a chunk of hard bread from the table, before heading out the door, Johanna trying to balance on her crutches while she eats.

“We could eat at home,” Cole suggests, watching her struggle.

“I won’t always have that option in the arena,” she replies. It’s too hard to do both. She holds her food awkwardly in one hand so she can _clunk_ her way to the back of the house.

“Why are you so sure you’re going to be reaped?” he asks her.

“I’m not. I can’t afford to think otherwise, though.”

“Do you think that’s how the careers feel?”

The question makes her stop. Her bad leg drags a little in the dirt. The cast makes it unable to move at all. She keeps forgetting that, even now.

“I guess so,” she says. “It’s how you should be feeling, too, Cole.”

He makes a face at that, and they keep walking.

One thing Johanna appreciates is that her parents set up a wood chopping station right behind their house, so she’ll never have to walk far to do it. There’s a pile of big logs leaning against the back wall, and a huge stump, uprooted and shaved down to a cylinder, for the actual chopping. When they first showed her, she wanted to ask where they got such a nice piece of wood, but didn’t. They probably stole it from work. They probably wouldn’t tell her either way.

“Here.” Cole sets a log on the stump and picks up the ax from the back of the woodpile.

She shoves the entire piece of bread in her mouth and chews for a long time before putting the cheese in, too. It hurts her jaw, but at least she gets to eat. She _clunks_ over to the stump and sits on it, letting her crutches fall before she takes the ax from her brother.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

She takes the log from behind her and sets it in front of her on the ground.

“I’m chopping wood,” she says, swinging the ax up over her head and then down with both hands. It hits the wood with a _crack_ and slides half way down the log before it sticks. She pulls the ax back, still wedged into the log, and crashes it down to the ground again. It splits the rest of the way.

“You should stand. It’s easier.”

“I can’t do it with one hand.”

“Try.”

Johanna rolls her eyes and, to humor him, drops the ax to pick up her left crutch, using it to pull herself up. Cole puts a new log on the stump and puts the ax in her right hand. She sets the blade in the middle of the log, pulls her arm back over her head, and chops. It only sinks in about a quarter of the way.

“See? It’s better when I’m sitting.”

“You won’t be sitting in the arena, though,” he teases her. “Look, mom and dad took away all your weapons privileges, right? Except for that.”

He points to the ax. Johanna snorts.

“I prefer my knives,” she says. “I can do those one handed no problem.”

“You don’t have them, though.”

“I’m not good with this,” she tells him, throwing down the ax. When it hits the ground, the log jumps off it to settle several feet away.

“So practice. Train.” He raises his eyebrows.

“This was your plan all along,” she says, understanding. He nods. “Pretty sneaky.”

“You can train during your chores. I’ll cover for you. They’d never think that I’d lie about this.”

“Or anything.”

“Exactly.”

He walks over to the fallen log and sets it back on the stump. He picks up the ax and holds it out to her. Training. Weapons training. Getting her routine back in line. She smiles and takes the ax from his hand.

They spend most of the day out there. Johanna doesn’t make much progress, but that’s okay. She has months to practice. They head in much later, to find their parents cooking dinner.

“It’s not much,” their dad warns. “We picked up some cheap pork and a few apples.”

Johanna doesn’t care, though. It’s a hot meal, made by her parents, and she’s training again. Her right arm aches from swinging the ax. Her whole body aches. She’s missed this feeling.

Her sisters corner her after they eat, while Cole helps their parents clean up the dishes.

“We got some white liquor in town,” Amy whispers to her. “We’re going behind the house to drink it. Do you wanna come with us?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going outside,” Valerie calls to their parents. “We won’t go far or be gone long. And we won’t let Johanna do anything stupid.”

Her sisters go behind the house when they want to be alone, which Johanna always thought was weird, since they share a room. It’s where they go to drink or to do anything else their parents don’t like. It’s mostly drinking.

They’ve never invited Johanna before, though. She’s almost afraid, like it’s some kind of joke, but it’s not. They both settle into apparently pre-determined seats, only mildly annoyed by the pile of logs, and then Amy jumps right back up to help Johanna down. Valerie pulls the bottle from inside her jacket, pops the top open, and takes a long sip. She crinkles her nose when she swallows and then hands the bottle to Johanna.

“This is sort of your initiation,” Amy says.

“You’ve never really pissed off mom and dad before,” Valerie adds.

“Yeah, you were always kind of the good kid.”

“Better than us, at least. I started sneaking out when they started training me.”

“And remember when they found me with that guy in our room? They were not very happy about that.”

“That was always our dynamic, though,” Valerie says, steering back to the point. “I’m kinda the moody rebel, Amy’s the slut, and you’re the good one.”

“But not anymore!” Amy touches Johanna’s face, like she’s been waiting for this moment her entire life.

“Now that you’ve gone behind their back to get tesserae—“

“—after getting caught out of bounds by Peacekeepers and winding up in the hospital—“

“—you’ve become the troublemaker we always knew you could be.” Valerie smiles. “Take a drink, little sister. You’ve earned it.”

Johanna gapes at the bottle in her hands.

“I thought you two weren’t picking sides.”

“Yeah,” Valerie begins. “And, officially, that’s our stance.”

“Unofficially, we think you’re a badass.”

“No, I did something stupid,” Johanna tells them. “What if I get reaped?”

“Don’t think about that right now,” Amy says. “Worry about that later. Tonight, you’re not Johanna Mason, potential tribute. You’re Johanna Mason, our little sister.”

Johanna looks between her sisters, then smiles. She takes a long sip from the bottle, as long as Valerie’s. It burns going down, like she lit a match and dropped it down her throat. She coughs a couple times. It stings. Amy laughs and takes the bottle to take her own sip.

“We should’ve warned you about the taste,” she says, still laughing. She passes the bottle to Valerie and takes Johanna’s hand. “We love you, Jo. We don’t say it often enough. That’s the curse of our family. But we do.”

“I love you guys, too.” Johanna laughs. She can already feel the alcohol. Her stomach rolls a little, and her mouth feels disconnected from her body.

It’s weird timing for a night like this. There’s a weird feeling to it all, but that feeling ebbs away with each drink she takes. _It’s probably nerves_ , she thinks. _I’m just really anxious._


	7. Ivory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie stops in Districts Two and One

District 2 is huge, and every single person in the crowd is wishing she had died in the Arena. She can feel it in the way they stare at her. They’re silent as she walks onstage. Usually there’s some small smattering of applause. She didn’t expect that here, but she expected boos or cries of hatred. Some acknowledgement that she’s there, and alive, and a Victor of the Hunger Games. District 2 doesn’t even allow her that small privilege.

She shouldn’t be that shocked, though. The Mad Girl is everything District 2 hates. Plus, Titus didn’t die in a way befitting a Tribute from 2. His death wasn’t her fault. Neither was Romana’s. Holiday killed both of them. But she’s here, completely undeserving of the life that they’ve both now been denied.

Annie Cresta isn’t a Victor. Not to the people looking at her now.

She takes a deep breath and forces herself to smile. Normally, she’d just stumble her way through a half-assed speech before having a break down, but after District 3, everything feels different. She didn’t discuss any of this with Finnick, despite her resolve to not go through this alone. His face after her speech about Hera was enough to give her some pause. He’s worried, about her and about Snow.

She’s treading on dangerous ground right now. She’s sailing directly into a storm. She can’t bring Finnick with her through that. She doesn’t need to protect him, but she can’t push him right in the way of danger either. So instead of telling him her plans, she did nothing. She told Finnick she had a headache and sat on her own and thought about what she would say to District 2.

Making them like her is an impossibility. She’s destroyed her own image too much, helped along over the past six months by Caesar Flickerman and President Snow. And 2 will never feel rebellious enough to listen to a speech about their Tributes’ humanity.

They don’t care about humanity. They’re like 4, with more ferocity. The general pro-Capitol attitude in 4 has always felt, to her, more like people trying to protect themselves. Loyal Districts get more perks. Loyal Districts get more money, more supplies, more food, more training. Their Tributes have a better chance of coming home.

The people of District 2, though, have moved beyond self-protection. They want victory. They want to be the best, always. They’re the center of the Capitol’s military, and they’re all raised in that mindset. If you die, you go out fighting. They are more than loyal; they are willing slaves, working to maintain a system that regularly sends their children to die.

She doesn’t stand a chance in this crowd. At least, not if she doesn’t step up her own game.

The microphone sends out a wave of feedback when she taps it. A lot of people in the crowd jump at the noise. _Good_ , she thinks. _Let them see that I’m alive_.

“My name is Annie Cresta,” she says, keeping her voice steady. “I’m the Victor of the 70th Hunger Games.”

There’s no reaction from the crowd. Titus and Romana glare down at her from behind their families.

“I’m here today to talk to you about your Tributes,” she says to the silent mass of people. “Titus and Romana were brave. They were strong fighters. They were good representatives of your District. They didn’t deserve to die in the ways they died. They didn’t deserve to die at all.”

Most of the stony faces, so intent on ignoring her before, look up when she says that. She’s got them now. They will never like her, but that doesn’t mean they won’t listen. She takes a deep breath.

_Blow the dam, mermaid girl._

She takes a small step closer to the mic and closes her eyes. She can do it. She can blow the dam. She can make District 2 listen to her. When she looks down, though, opening her mouth to speak, there’s a hand clamped over the microphone. Finnick steps in front of her, pushing her away with his body.

“I’m sorry, Miss Cresta is done for the day,” he says, oozing his easy charm. “We have a busy schedule. Thank you all for coming out today.”

Annie almost laughs at that.

He pulls her back off the stage, away from the confused murmurs of the crowd, away from the microphone, away from the explosives she was just about to detonate. She wrenches her arm out of his hand.

“What are you doing?” she hisses once they’re in the building, out of sight from the crowds and the cameras.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he snaps.

They keep moving, never pausing, never letting their voices get too loud.

“I’m.... I asked first.”

“I’m making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Snow won’t kill me.”

“He could.” Finnick stops. She stops with him. “Maybe not now, but he’s listening to every word you say. You can’t go onstage and say things like that. You’re the Mad Girl now. That image keeps you safe.”

“Safe?”

“Yes. Safe.”

Annie keeps walking. He walks with her. They reach the train and board quickly. Finnick crosses the room in a few strides and turns back to look at her.

“Let him listen to me,” she says. “I only have one more speech, and then I go home.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Yes, it does. The schedule for this is set—“

“—It doesn’t _stop_ like that.” He clasps his hands together. Annie crosses her arms.

“Finnick, it _does_. I—“

“Annie.” He shouts it, then takes a deep breath. When he speaks again, his voice is lower and calmer. “It’s been five years, and none of this has stopped for me. I may as well still be on this exact train giving my same speeches.”

“Yeah, but I….” _I said no to Snow_ , she almost says. _I’m not going to be sold in the Capitol_. “I’m just the Mad Girl.”

“That doesn’t matter.” He looks away from her, down at his hands, still twisting together. “Mags is really sick. I don’t know what it is exactly, but it’s not good. I didn’t want to say anything until we got home.”

Her heart sinks into her stomach.

“Is she…?” She can’t even think the end of that sentence.

“No, I don’t think so. She’s not dying, but… But, Annie….” She takes a step closer to him, and then another, and another, until she’s standing in front of him. She keeps her arms crossed, not daring to touch him. “You’re going to have to be a mentor this year.”

Her heart sinks even deeper.

“No,” she tells him. She shakes her head. “No, I can’t. We said… _You_ said….”

His voice drops back down to a whisper. “I know. Annie, I’m so sorry.”

He starts to reach out, probably for her hands, but she steps back.

“I have to get ready for dinner,” she says, already turning to walk back to her compartment.

The room is dark. She hates it. She turns on all the lights, as bright as they go, and stands in front of the mirror. Her prep team works on her every day, picking away every flaw she has, but maybe she can find more. She can find something to dig at or pluck or pop. She pulls off her clothes.

There’s a knock at her door. She ignores it. A few moments later, there’s another. She glances over, but still ignores it. It stops after that, so she turns back to the mirror.

Not one stray hair is left on her body. Not one blemish. Nothing. She is perfect. Smooth and radiant and perfect. There’s nothing for her to fix. Nothing for her to focus on except for her imminent return to the Capitol. To the cameras and lights. To the Hunger Games. She puts her clothes back on.

They’d all agreed, when she came home, that she shouldn’t go back. No one would question it. Finnick could easily tell people she’s too traumatized to be a mentor. The country wouldn’t have to watch her fall apart anymore. They’d probably all be relieved without her there to constantly remind them of the real consequences of the Arena.

She can’t go back. She can’t watch as two other kids, just like her and Sebastian, go into training and go into some unknown wasteland to die. She can’t and she won’t.

_Mags is sick_ , she tells herself. _And you can’t leave Finnick there alone_.

“Yes I can,” she says out loud, sinking onto her bed. “He’s not my responsibility.”

_Neither was Hera. Neither was Sebastian_.

Hera is suddenly in her arms again, the arrow still sticking out of her back, blood foaming at her mouth. She’s holding Sebastian’s head. They both stare at her with blank eyes. And then the noise is there, like it always is. It pierces straight into her brain and through every nerve in her body. She covers her ears with her hands, but it doesn’t make a difference. It’s going to kill her this time. She can feel it. She digs her fingers into her scalp and screams.

This is it. Snow put the noise in the train. He _is_ going to kill her.

“Annie?” someone calls. It’s muffled and small.

_Finnick_.

She wants to yell back to him, but she can’t stop screaming.

“ANNIE.” It’s closer now, and then hands are on hers, pulling them away from her ears. “Annie, look at me. Please, open your eyes.”

She doesn’t remember closing them. The noise is still all around her, but it’s receding. Fingers clutch desperately at hers. Finnick’s fingers.

She opens her eyes. He’s staring at her, scared and frantic.

“You’re okay,” he tells her. “You’re here on the train.”

“I’m not okay.” The skin around her ears stings. She reaches up to feel one side, and her fingers come away wet with blood.

“Annie….” He lifts her hair away from her skin. “Hold on, I’ll get something to clean those scratches.”

“Wait.” He made the noise go away. If he leaves, it’ll just come back. “Stay here. I…. Just don’t leave me.”

Tentatively, he opens his arms, and she buries herself in his chest. He pulls her as close as he can.

She wants to cry. She wants to scream. All she does is breathe, though.

“I won’t,” he says. His voice is scratchy and strained.

They sit like that for a long time, until the world reassembles around her.

“We should get ready for dinner,” she says, breaking their comfortable silence. She feels him shake his head.

“Don’t bother. We still have to clean you up. We’re not going tonight.”

“That’ll just make Snow mad, though.”

“I don’t care,” he says.

She dreams about Ivory that night, after Finnick helps her clean the gouges in her head and they fall asleep together to the lull of the train on its track. He’s sitting on her beach, the little stretch behind her house, with his feet in the water. She walks up and sits next to him. His neck is still a ruin. Blood oozes from the open gash that she left there.

He glances at her quickly, but otherwise keeps his eyes on the horizon. Silence. Annie can do silence. She crosses her legs, keeping them away from the water, and stares where he stares. Little waves lap at his feet and ankles.

“I’ve never seen the ocean,” he tells her. His voice is a bubbling rasp. Blood foams and pops against his lips. He shakes his head. “But that’s not the ocean. That’s your memory of it. There’s no wind or salt smell. Just sand and water.”

He’s right. There’s no breeze to tangle her hair, no smell of salt and fried fish. This isn’t her home. This isn’t anything.

“I have to see your family tomorrow,” she says after a moment.

“Lucky you.”

“I don’t know what to say to them.”

“Don’t say anything. Go on stage, say your little speech, have your breakdown, and then get out of my District. What do you even want from me now?”

“I don’t know,” she says. It’s only half a lie. “I wanted to apologize.”

“It’s not accepted.”

“I get that, but—“

“—You don’t. See this?” He tilts his head back, opening up the gash even more. “You did that. I was trying to get away from Holiday, same as you. You killed me because she killed Sebastian. Do you know what that makes you, Annie Cresta?”

“A murderer,” she mutters. “No better than Holiday.”

“No. It makes you the Mad Girl. Don’t even bother with whatever revolutionary speech you want to do for my family. They won’t care. You’re the crazy girl who killed me for no reason. You should’ve blown the dam when you had the chance. There’s no point to it now. Everyone else is already dead.”

Mena shakes her awake then. The train has stopped.

“Last speech,” she trills before leaving.

Finnick is gone, undoubtedly to his own compartment to get ready. She goes back to sleep until her prep team comes in to get her ready. When was the last time she ate? She’s not even sure. She’s not hungry, though.

They put her in a sheer dress covered with gems. It makes sense for District 1. Luxury items. _That’s what I am now_ , she thinks. _Just another item for them. Something to look at._

Ivory and Holiday stare at her when she teeters onstage in her high heels. They picked the perfect pictures for them. Holiday looks sweet, but cold. There’s a small smile on her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. Ivory doesn’t smile, though. He stares accusingly at her with anger etched into every line of his face.

His family stands in front of the picture, two parents and a brother, all of them wearing a similar expression.

“Hello,” she says into the microphone. “My name is Annie Cresta. I’m the Victor of the 70th Hunger Games.”

The crowd gives a similar treatment as District 2. No reactions, no murmurs. Nothing.

“Holiday was… well, she was a fighter, to say the least.” There’s only one person under Holiday’s picture. A woman. Probably her mother. “She’d be here today if it wasn’t for… uh, me.”

She winces at her own words. _Don’t fall apart_ , she begs herself.

“And Ivory….” She looks at his picture, and the family beneath it. In her dream, he told her not to bother. But she destroyed a family. Not out of self-defense, but out of revenge. Out of spite. She can’t say nothing to them. “I’m sorry I killed him. I’m sorry I killed your son.”

She killed Ivory. Holiday killed Sebastian. Everyone in the Arena killed someone else. Because they were all forced into that situation. None of them belonged there. They were put there.

By Snow.

“I know you probably hate me for that,” she says, speaking directly to Ivory’s family. “Your anger is misplaced, though.”

Just like yesterday, a hand clamps over the microphone. Finnick gently pushes her away.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out here today—“

“You shouldn’t be mad at me!” she calls, struggling against his arms.

“—Miss Cresta is done for the day—“

“I’m not the one who sent Ivory in there to die in the first place!”

“—we hope you all understand and have a pleasant rest of your day—“

Annie tries to shove him aside to get back to the microphone. _I’m not done_ , she thinks. _I need to tell them to hate Snow. Snow’s the one to blame_. Finnick turns to her and grabs both her arms, half pushing and half pulling her away, back into the building behind them. Two Peacekeepers slam the doors and he drops her.

“Congratulations, you’re done,” he says before storming off.

She doesn’t see him again until dinner. He doesn’t touch her at all. He doesn’t even brush against her leg. Annie doesn’t have to fake any of her misery throughout the meal. She eats a few bites, but mostly pushes her food around.

“Eat,” Finnick murmurs to her part way through the meal, during a lull in the conversation. When was the last time she ate? She still doesn’t remember. She’s still not hungry. She eats a little more, to humor him, and excuses herself early from the table.

Her tour is done. She has one more stop, in the Capitol, and a celebration at home, but that’s the end of the speeches. Even as a mentor, she won’t have to do much work with the cameras. She’ll smile when she needs to and let them fawn over Finnick. They always want to fawn over Finnick. She’ll just give the people what they want.

When she gets to the train, she stays in the main area, with the big table. She doesn’t want to be in her compartment right now. She’ll wait out here for Finnick. They have a lot to talk about. It’ll be best to get that all over with.

After a few minutes, the main door opens, but it’s not Finnick who comes in. It’s Mena. She looks like an explosion of precious gems and metals, from her dress to her shoes. There are ropes of pearls and diamonds wound through her hair. Even her eyelashes are tipped with little jewels.

“Where’s Finnick?” Annie asks her.

“Still at dinner.”

“Oh.” She settles into a seat and pulls off her shoes. She had been pacing around the entire room without even noticing.

“I’m glad you’re here, though,” Mena says, pulling out the chair closest to Annie. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Annie shakes her head, and Mena sits carefully, making sure she doesn’t pop a gem off her dress. She crosses one leg over the other.

“Is something wrong?” Her mind immediately goes back to Mags, sick at home.

“No, dear, everything is fine.”

They sit there for awhile. Or maybe it’s not that long. Annie hasn’t been able to tell time lately.

“I wanted to express some… concerns to you,” Mena says when she’s ready to talk.

“Such as?”

“You need to be careful. You’re a smart girl, and it can get… frustrating to play a part you don’t like when you’ve seen the things you’ve seen. But you have to, Annie.”

“Are you telling me to watch my back?”

“I’m telling you to watch your mouth,” Mena says. There’s almost no lilt to her voice. “Names and positions are changing so much lately. Yours has already changed quite a bit.”

Another bubble of misplaced anger fills Annie’s stomach and takes her over for a moment. “You’ve barely said a word to me this whole tour. Why should I even listen to you now?”

Mena thinks for a moment, and when she speaks it’s very deliberate, each word carefully chosen.

“We all have to do things, for the cameras, for our jobs, that don’t always sit well with us. You of all people must understand that.” She reaches out, like she’s about to touch Annie’s arm, then stops herself. “I’m still on your side.”

“Only because it’s your job.”

Mena stands and smoothes down her dress.

“Right. It’s my job.”

She hovers for a moment, like she’s going to say something else, but then she walks away, leaving Annie alone in the main room to wait for Finnick.


	8. Snow

The last time Annie was in the President’s mansion, he directly threatened her life and tried to sell her to the elite citizens of the Capitol. Now all those citizens are here, avoiding her eye but all making sure to touch Finnick. She’s not sure which visit is worse.

Finnick looks like he’s at home here. He greets every person who greets him, grabbing their hands or arms or shoulders. Kissing their cheeks. Accepting bites of food that they insist on feeding to him. Her heart breaks as she watches him. She knows how much he hates this.

“I wish we could skip the party,” he’d said to her that morning. They were lying in bed together. He was playing with her hair while she rested her head on his chest. She could feel him breathing, feel his heart beating.

“I need to be there,” she’d replied. “But, if you don’t want to go….”

He took her free hand in his.

“No,” he murmured. “I need to be there, too.”

_Maybe I should’ve said yes to Snow_ , Annie thinks while she watches him. _My parents would be alive. Maybe I could’ve taken some of the pressure off Finnick_. He smiles wide at a short woman with dark hair, letting her give him a quick peck on the lips before she embraces him like an old friend.

He’d warned her that he wouldn’t be able to spend a lot of time with her at this party. All his clients are here. He needs to keep them happy. That’s his job now, just like it’s Annie’s to make people uncomfortable. He just happens to do it exceptionally well.

A pang of jealousy hits her out of nowhere, and she turns away to make her way through the throng. She shouldn’t be jealous. Logically, she knows that. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to talk to any of these people. He wants to be with her. He wants to talk to her. She knows that. He told her that.

It’s not jealousy over the people and the situation, she decides. It’s uneasiness. She’s jealous that those other people can talk to him and touch him and kiss him, when she can’t. Not publicly.

_Or privately_ , she thinks.

They haven’t kissed. Not once. Not since the night on the balcony before her Games, a hundred lives ago. She’s been dying to. They share a bed every night, it’s not like the thought hasn’t occurred to her. But she wants him to be comfortable. Whatever desires she has can wait for him.

She shakes her head. She has to stop thinking about Finnick.

Across the courtyard, she sees a table full of food and drinks. She makes her way towards it. People move to avoid touching her, like she can spread her crazy through touch.

And there are a _lot_ of people. More than she expected. They all ignore her. They want to see Finnick Odair, and eat all the food, and marvel at the beauty of the mansion. It’s covered in shimmering lights for the occasion, each area with a different color scheme. The food is decadent, made from only the finest ingredients. The people are wearing their best outfits, all poofs and frills and intricate patterns.

Annie hates it.

Her own dress is gold. The skirt is big enough to fit two of her, and it sticks out all around her, keeping her in a bubble. Stella herself put her in it. She took a break from her big show prep just for Annie.

“You should feel honored,” she’d said while she laced up the back of the dress. “I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.”

But she doesn’t feel honored. This party is for her, because she killed people, and watched her friends die. She’d rather have no party and no Games. She’d rather have Sebastian and Hera here with her.

The food table isn’t that exciting to her. It’s mostly small things, little pastries filled with various creams that are gone after one bite. She eats one and then grabs a glass off the end. She’s not sure what’s inside it. It’s sweet and makes her feel funny. Definitely some sort of alcohol. She finishes her glass and grabs another.

With nothing else to do, she starts walking around aimlessly. She doesn’t want to see the mansion, or any of these people, but she doesn’t want to stand still either. Every person she passes looks away from her. She catches a glimpse of Finnick, across the garden, laughing at a joke. His hands are holding onto some other woman’s; the same woman who kissed him before. It’s enough to make her head spin. Or maybe that’s the alcohol.

The train. She has to get back to the train. The lights are too bright, the people too loud, her drink too strong. The train is safe, though, or as safe as she can be in the Capitol. Before she can move, though, she feels a hand on her arm. She turns to see who wants her attention, to see who in this crowd would actually pay attention to her, and her blood turns cold.

Snow is standing before her, smiling. There’s a white rose pinned to the lapel of his jacket.

“Miss Cresta,” he says in greeting.

“President Snow,” she replies.

His voice is perfectly cordial, but she has to struggle to keep hers even. She clutches the glass a little tighter in her hand. She can break it if she has to. She can jam it into his ancient neck.

“I was wondering if you might join me for a moment.” He smiles a little wider and holds out a hand for her to take.

“Lead the way,” she says, not grabbing his hand. She never wants to touch him. She’s considering cutting off the arm he put that hand on. The same hand that, six months ago, snapped two fingers together to kill her parents.

She follows him, though. Through all the people, through the courtyard and down a long hallway, until they reach the door to his private office. He holds the door open for her, still smiling.

Once the door closes, the smile is gone. A hint of it lingers, and the politeness, but the rest of the act is over. He doesn’t need to be nice to her anymore. It’s just the two of them now.

He crosses the room to sit behind his desk. The room smells like roses, same as last time. It’s enough to make her gag, but she doesn’t. She takes a sip of her drink, letting it settle in her stomach and her head before she speaks.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Now, my dear, is there a real need for this hostility? I simply wanted to check in. See how you’re doing. See how you’re enjoying the party.”

“I’m not enjoying the party. Is that it?” She turns back towards the door.

“Don’t go,” he snaps. She freezes.

Maybe he _will_ have her killed. And at her own party, no less.

She turns back to look at him. “So there is more.”

“You know very well there’s more. Sit down.”

She walks to the chairs in front of his desk and pulls her entire skirt forward before sitting in one of them.

“Miss Cresta,” he begins, “you have had quite the Victory Tour. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” she says through her teeth.

“Your performance was quite convincing. In some Districts, at least.”

“Thank you. You know I live to please.”

“No… that would be Finnick, wouldn’t it?” She swallows down every nasty thing she wants to scream at him. He smirks. “It appears I’ve struck a chord.”

“So what if you have?”

“You’ve disappointed me,” he tells her. “You seemed like such a smart girl, and yet you seem to have forgotten my lessons.”

“What would those be?”

“That your life belongs to me, as do the lives of everyone you’ve ever cared about. And that Finnick is not yours.”

“Finnick is his own person,” she tells him.

“Wrong again,” Snow snaps. “Finnick is mine. But you don’t seem to care about that. You don’t seem to care—“

“You can’t kill me,” she blurts. Her head is fuzzy and her hands shake. She shouldn’t say anything, she knows that, but she can’t let him win, either. She can’t just let him speak to her like this.

He studies her for a moment, leaning onto his desk. His chair creaks when he moves.

“That might be true,” he admits, “for now, with your victory so fresh. But memories fade, Miss Cresta. They’ll forget about you soon enough. In a year, maybe two, no one will give a damn about District Four’s poor mad girl.” He pauses to look at her again. “Well, that’s not exactly true, is it? Finnick will still care, won’t he? What with you two sharing a bed every night.”

A chill goes down her spine.

“That’s not true,” she lies.

Snow smiles at her, but otherwise doesn’t respond to her comment. He smoothes out a few wilted petals on the rose pinned to his jacket. “Every action has a consequence, Miss Cresta, even if it’s not always one we expect.”

He folds his hand on top of his desk and smiles at her again.

“Is that it?” she asks.

“Yes. You can go back to your party now.”

She stands and walks right out without so much as a glance behind her. Outside the door, she finishes her second drink and drops the glass right on the floor. It breaks into a few big pieces. She steps on them, breaking them into a million little shards, as she leaves. She walks right out the front door, down the long front lawn, and out the gate. The car is still sitting there, the one that brought her to the party in the first place. She opens the backseat and climbs in. There’s an audible rip from her dress, but she doesn’t care.

“Take me back,” she tells the driver.

The ride is short, and then she’s back on the train. She strips off her dress in her compartment and jumps in the shower, washing off all the makeup, washing out the insane amounts of gel holding her hair in place. She scrubs her skin raw before getting out and dressing in a plain shirt and leggings. Her hair soaks through the material and drips onto the ground. She paces for awhile, trying not to let herself think.

She should’ve killed him. She should’ve attacked him with her glass, or just gone for him with her fingernails. She’s killed before. She could do it again, with reason. Snow had her parents killed. He’s keeping Finnick as a slave in the Capitol. He has eyes everywhere. He’s turned the entire country into his own personal workers, running everything with fear. He has to be stopped.

She could’ve done that tonight, but she didn’t. Even if she didn’t kill him, she could’ve done something, anything, to really make him angry.

She’s not his. He doesn’t get a say in her life. Not anymore.

There’s a knock at her door, and then it slides open without waiting for her answer. She wheels around, expecting to see Snow, expecting to hear him say he changed his mind and he’s going to kill her after all, but it’s only Finnick. His face is flushed and his hair mussed up, but he looks concerned.

“I saw you leaving. You looked upset. Is everything okay?”

She crosses the space and stands on her toes to take his face in her hands.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks. The words are out before she can really think them through.

His eyes dart from her eyes to her mouth and back.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Answer mine first.”

“Yes,” he says, and he closes the distance between them.

She can feel him smile, she can feel his teeth bump against her top lip, and she wants more. She wraps her arms around his neck and they open their mouths at the same time. He tastes just like she remembers; like sugar and sand and something she can’t name, mixed with the sweet sting of alcohol.

She just wants more. Apparently he does, too.

She feels his hands move, slowly, down her back, all the way down to her thighs. He bends as he moves without breaking the kiss. In one quick motion, he scoops her up into his arms. She wraps her legs around him by some unknown instinct. He walks over to the bed and lets her down on the mattress before lowering himself on top of her.

Old fantasies rush back into her head. Finnick pressing her against a wall and running his hands all over her. Finnick kissing her neck and reaching up her shirt. Finnick kissing his way down her body. Finnick letting her take his clothes off.

She reaches down his back, still kissing him desperately, like he’s the only thing left in the world. One of his hands is behind her head, the other brushing over her hip. She finds the edge of his shirt and starts to pull it up, just barely scratching his bare skin as she goes.

He stops, completely, and sits up, pulling himself away from her.

_No_ , she wants to say, _I’m not done_ , but then she sees his face. He’s lost in some memory. In some other person. _I’m an idiot_ , she thinks, sitting up and scooting to the other end of the bed.

“I’m sorry, Annie,” he murmurs. “I can’t do this.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says, holding out a hand for him to take if he wants to.

“I want to… with you.” He can barely say the words. He takes her hand. There are tears in his eyes.

She takes his other hand.

“Really, it’s okay,” she tells him, meeting his eyes. She opens her mouth to say more but closes it quickly. She opens her arms instead and lets him fall into them. They lay back onto the bed together, him curled against her chest. “I want you to feel safe,” she murmurs. “And, when you’re ready, I’ll be ready, too.”

He holds her tighter. She can feel him breathing against her.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a long time.


	9. Actions

The next six months are a blur to Johanna. Training, working, school, appointments with Capitol Doctors. By the time she starts to get good at one-armed attacks with the ax, they take her cast off, just a month before the reaping. She’s allowed to leave the house after that, but only with supervision. She has to work out her leg, so she goes on walks with her sisters or brother. She climbs trees on these walks. She runs for short distances.

            There’s still a lot of pain if she steps the wrong way. The Doctors made it very clear that her healing isn’t all the way done. She still needs to take it easy. But Johanna Mason has never been one for taking it easy.

Her parents eventually forgive her. The tesserae go forgotten, except for once a month when Johanna brings home their grain and oil portions. They ignore it, though, like they’re hoping they can will it all out of existence.

It works for Johanna, though. As long as they’re not mad at her anymore.

Weeks and months go by. The little snow that was on the ground melts away. Flowers come back. Trees grow leaves again. Johanna trains and forgets about the tesserae. She forgets about the reaping, and the twelve slips of paper with her name written on them. She has to forget about them, at least for now, or it’ll drive her crazy. She’ll end up worse than Annie Cresta. And that is not a fate she wants.

When the morning of the reaping dawns, at last, it’s warm and muggy. It could almost be a beautiful day. Johanna stretches out her bad leg, feeling the joints pop. She winces at the sound but sits up. Cole is still asleep next to her. She should let him sleep, she knows, but she can’t.

“Cole.” She has to repeat it a few times. He blinks awake, yawning, and stretches to look at her. He smiles a little, and then it drops.

“Happy reaping day,” he says. There’s a touch of humor in his voice, like he’s trying to keep it light, but they both know there’s no use. They’re the only ones in the family in danger anymore, since Valerie turned 19 this year.

She tries to smile at him but can’t. She pushes herself out of bed, hoping to get a walk in before the ceremony. She’ll have to take a bath today, and wear something nice, just in case she’s picked to go to her death.

“Johanna?” Her brother’s voice is small. She turns around. He’s still sitting in bed, with his hands in his lap, pulling at loose threads on their thin blanket. “What if I get reaped?”

She sits back on the bed.

“You won’t be, Cole.”

“What if?”

“Your name is in the bowl twice,” she reminds him. “There are people with ten times more slips. You won’t be reaped.”

“But what if, Jo?”

She sighs and takes his face in her hands.

“Then you’ll come home,” she tells him.

“No one under 14 has ever won.”

“No one under 16 won until Finnick Odair did. You’ll beat his record.”

She kisses him on the forehead and gets back up, walking to her wardrobe to pick out her good outfit for later.

“Do you really think I’d come home?” he asks after a moment.

“Of course I do,” she says, turning back. “You’re a Mason.”

He doesn’t reply. His eyes shine, his brows furrow, but otherwise it’s like she didn’t say anything. She decides not to push it. They can talk about it tonight.

They dress quickly. Their parents always make a big breakfast on reaping day. They even have eggs this morning. Johanna’s mouth waters when she walks out of her room and smells them.

“Where’d you get those?” she asks.

“Nowhere,” her father tells her with a small smile. That means they got them at the Center; the black market at the edge of the District. Johanna’s never been, and her parents don’t go often.

They eat quickly. She always wants to savor her last breakfast before the reaping, but nerves take over and force her hand to shovel food into her mouth.

“Chew,” her mother reminds her. She eats a little slower after that.

When everyone’s done eating, Johanna runs outside without even waiting for Cole. If she’s reaped today, this will be her last chance to be alone. She fully intends to take advantage of it.

She spends the morning walking along the fence. Even now, she won’t dare go beyond it, especially not today, with all the extra Peacekeepers running around. She looks, though. The trees almost call to her. She can smell them from here. The entire District smells like them. Pine and earth and sap. She only notices these things on reaping day.

Around midday, she heads back for her bath. She’d laid out her outfit that morning, but while she was gone her mother put it away and set out another one on the edge of her bed. One of her own dresses. Dark green, light material. Johanna always loved that dress. She smiles.

She doesn’t scrub herself too hard in the bath. If she’s reaped, her stylist will make sure she’s up to the Capitol standards of cleanliness. If she’s not, it doesn’t matter. She has to get out of the tub carefully. Her knee always throbs painfully if she gets up too fast.

She brushes her hair out and braids it. She doesn’t know any other hairstyles. She could ask her sisters to help, but she still feels like being alone.

Her mother’s dress is a little big on her. It’s a knee length dress, but it hits her a little below. She’s small for her age. She’s always been small. If she’s reaped today, she’s going to die.

They walk into town as a family, but no one speaks. The silence is fine by Johanna. She has to focus on walking correctly, so she doesn’t hurt her leg any more. The rest of their neighborhood walks around them, and as they get closer they’re joined by other neighborhoods, and more and more, until the entire District is together in the square in front of City Hall. There are so many of them, and so few people on stage.

The Mayor and his wife are there. Their children are in the crowd somewhere. They’re closer to Cole’s age, she knows. Blight Thorn is there, this year’s unlucky Victor who has to mentor the tributes. And there’s Juniper Herriot, the District 7 escort. His suit is a collage of greens, like he’s trying to blend in with the District itself instead of just the people.

Her parents and sisters stop at the back of the crowd, to stand with everyone else who’s beyond reaping age. They take turns hugging Cole and Johanna and giving them last minute words of encouragement.

“You’ll be back here with us next year,” Amy tells her, squeezing her shoulder.

She and her brother keep walking forward. She leaves him with the other 13-year-olds.

“You were right,” he tells her, looking up at the big bowls with all the names. “I should’ve trained harder. I should’ve taken it more seriously.”

“And you will,” she says. “This isn’t your year.”

He doesn’t say anything. She takes his hands in hers and squeezes them before continuing to her own section. _It’s not his year_ , she tells herself. She’d been so worried about her own name being drawn that she hadn’t put much thought into what she’d do if Cole’s name was the one that came out of the bowl.

_I don’t have to think about that. Because it’s not his year._

After a few minutes, Juniper steps up to the microphone.

“Hello, all!” he says. It rings around the square, stopping the few people who were actually talking. Johanna’s heart starts beating faster. _It’s not his year_ , she tells herself again. “Welcome to the District Seven Reaping for the 71st annual Hunger Games!”

He claps. No one else does. Same as every year.

They play the video, the one that talks about the war, and the reason for the games. The rebels lost, and this is their punishment. The Capitol acts like it’s an honor. Johanna has to look away from the screen. There’s no honor in this. In being rounded up like animals and forced to send two children to die every year. It’s a punishment. Pretending it’s not is an insult.

_It’s not his year._

When the video ends, when President Snow’s words stop blaring out through the speakers, Juniper is already back up at the microphone.

“Gentlemen first this year, I think.” He smiles his wide Capitol smile and turns to the bowl on his left side. He feels around for a moment before pulling out the slip. Johanna’s heart pounds in her ears and throat. _Please don’t let it be his year_.

“This year’s male tribute,” Juniper announces, “is Briar Duncan!”

She breathes a sigh of relief.

Across the aisle from her, a 17-year-old boy makes his way through the crowd and out into the open space. In sync, everyone from 7 reaches a hand out to him, right into the aisle. It’s a traditional greeting for a new tribute. It’s a way of saying goodbye. Of saying that the District will be with them.

Briar is in her class at school. He’s average height and scrawny. He’s trying to look brave as he walks across the stage and lets Juniper pull his one hand up, but Johanna can tell he’s terrified.

“Any volunteers?” Juniper asks. The crowd is silent. There aren’t many volunteers in 7. “No? Alright, well, let’s move on to the ladies.”

Her heart jumps back up, further than her throat, right into her head. She can feel every pulse in her body. _Not me_ , she thinks. _Please, not me_.

Juniper reaches into the other bowl, the one with the girls’ names, and searches through for a few seconds. He withdraws a slip of paper and unfolds it carefully.

“This year’s female tribute is….” He looks down to read the name. _Not me, not me, not me._ “Johanna Mason!”

_No, I didn’t think of a new plan_ , is her first thought. Her second is, _I’m going to die_. She doesn’t know what to do. She can’t be the same person she was planning on being. Her knee still hurts. She’s still injured.

People are starting to look at her. Slowly, she makes her way out of the group of 17-year-old girls and into the center aisle, where arms are already reaching out to help send her off.

She wants to scream. She wants to run up and tear out Juniper’s throat. She wants to rip the paper from his hand and pick another one. The first one doesn’t count. It’s not her name. He said it wrong. A million excuses rush through her brain, each more ridiculous than the last, and her legs are still pulling her towards the stage, the traitors.

“Johanna!” She turns at the sound of her name. Cole is sprinting up the aisle, through everyone’s outstretched arms, trying to reach her. Peacekeepers detach themselves from the sidelines and push through to stop him.

“Cole,” she calls back, running to meet him. They collide and he hugs her tight for a moment before the Peacekeepers pull him away.

They’re still holding him in the same spot by the time she reaches the stage. Juniper puts his hand on her shoulder like nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

“Any volunteers?” he asks.

“Me!” It’s Cole’s voice, shrill and raspy from the tears he’s obviously holding back. “I volunteer as tribute!”

Juniper laughs, but he’s the only one.

“It doesn’t work like that, son,” he says, trying to be soothing. “Maybe your time will come next year.”

Johanna looks down at her brother, the tears streaming openly down his face now. She looks through the crowd and finds her parents and sisters, all standing together, all looking as scared as she feels.

Just then, as she watches her mom wipe a single tear from her cheek, she knows the person she has to be for the cameras. She looks back at Cole, willing herself to absorb his pain. She finds the nearest camera and looks right into it.

And Johanna Mason starts to cry.


	10. Consequences

The day of the Reaping comes too fast. The sun is too bright. The air is too warm. The salt smell of the ocean is too strong. Normally, Annie loves these things about District 4, but today they’re stifling her. They could be traps. If this were the Arena, they would be.

Finnick’s arms are loose around her waist, his breathing deep and steady against her neck. He only got home two days ago, and now he already has to go back. She lays one arm gently over his, trying not to wake him, but she feels him stretch and pull her a little closer.

“Good morning,” he murmurs. She moves onto her other side so she can look at him. His hair is messy, his eyes red and tired, but he’s smiling.

“Good morning,” she replies.

She likes waking up next to him. She likes when he holds her. She likes breathing him in. All of it is almost enough to make her smile back at him. Today is the Reaping, though. Today is the day she has to help send two children to their deaths. Just like her and Sebastian.

“Are you okay?” he asks, suddenly concerned.

She forces herself to smile and sits up.

“I’m fine,” she lies. He looks at her skeptically but doesn’t push it.

This is basically how it’s been since they returned from her Tour. Neither of them wants to upset the other. Neither wants to get too close to the other. Neither wants to lose the other.

The past few months have been… rough. Rougher than the months before them, even. Finnick spent more time in the Capitol than normal. He was gone for two months at one point, then he was back for only a week. He came home shaking and not wanting anyone to touch him. He barely ate. He barely moved. He’d sit on the beach and tie knots, and at night he’d climb into bed with Annie and turn his back to her.

Mags went in and out of the hospital a few times. Annie was usually the one who had to call the car service to get her there, and she’d always sit in the lobby, like Mags must have done for her after the Arena.

_This is my fault_ , she’d think every time as she watched Doctors wheel Mags back to the care rooms. _Snow said every action has a consequence. This is my consequence. I have to watch Mags die slowly._

She almost took up knot tying, but it didn’t work for her the same way it worked for Finnick. The only thing that made Annie feel better was swimming, but she couldn’t do that, either. Every time she tried, every time she pushed through her fear to go out into the water, to feel the salt on her skin, to feel free for once, the waves turned into the big wave in the Arena.

Snow had taken that from her, too. He took away her family and her friends. He took away her sanity and her voice, and any chance she’d ever have at regaining those things. And he took away the ocean.

Finnick tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

“I know you don’t want to go,” he murmurs. “I don’t either. It’ll only be a couple weeks, though, and then you can come back here.”

“Knowing that I helped kill two children.” She pushes herself up and out of bed. He sits up but doesn’t follow her.

“Or knowing that you helped save one.”

“One. Out of twenty-four.”

She leaves the room and glances down the hall. There’s no noise. After Mags’ last hospital trip, they’d decided to move her into one of Annie’s empty rooms. She tiptoes down to the door and pushes it open, just enough to peek in.

Mags sleeps peacefully, snoring slightly. Annie lets out a breath she doesn’t remember holding. The nurse will be here later today, to stay during the Games.

_When I come back, Mags will probably be dead_ , she thinks. That’s what Snow wants. It’ll be the same as last time. Nothing ever changes.

She walks back, pausing outside her room. She wants to talk to Finnick. She wants to sit down and talk until they know everything about each other. She doesn’t, though. She keeps walking, down to the bathroom.

She can barely even focus on her shower. She washes her hair and scrubs her body. The motions are forced, almost mechanical, like someone else is controlling her.

A year ago, she was doing the same thing. She was getting ready for a Reaping that should’ve been like any other Reaping. She swam in the ocean like it was nothing. She even beat Finnick at a race. She almost smiles when she remembers that. She took a bath in her old tub and her father cooked for her. Her mother brushed her hair. She should’ve gone back to that life.

But that girl was Reaped. Twenny Clearing. Annie can’t ever forget her name. She doesn’t know why she felt the need to volunteer for that girl, but she did.

_She was crying_ , she reminds herself. _She was scared. She was going to die. I saved her._

It cost her everything, but she saved that girl.

She gets ready in a blur after that. She doesn’t have a stylist or a prep team anymore, those are reserved for Tributes and Victors. She has to get ready on her own.

Finnick’s gone when she gets back to her room, probably back to his own house to get ready. She chooses a simple outfit for the day. A green pantsuit. Nothing flashy or fancy. She skips makeup. She pins her hair back so it’s off her face, but otherwise doesn’t do anything to it.

She’s not a Tribute anymore. She’s not on her Tour anymore. She has no one to represent but herself, and the entire country already has the lowest opinion of her possible. It doesn’t matter how she looks. There’s a small comfort in that. No one cares what she’s wearing.

Eventually the nurse comes. Annie gives her a quick tour of the house, and, while she prepares lunch, says goodbye to Mags.

“I’ll see you soon,” Annie tells her, taking her hand. Mags is only barely awake, but she squeezes her hand back.

“Love,” Mags says. She can barely talk these days, even less than before. Her grip is strong though. That’s a good sign.

“I love you, too,” Annie murmurs, and kisses her on the forehead. _Please don’t die_ , she thinks.

And then it’s time to go.

Finnick stands outside, waiting with the car.

“You look nice,” he says. Of course he does, too. His hair is tousled, and his shirt is cut low to expose his chest. Annie doesn’t say anything; she gets in the car, sliding over as far as she can so Finnick can sit next to her. They don’t speak for the duration. Annie watches the city. The buildings move quickly, only letting her see flashes of people through windows.

There aren’t many people on the street just now, at least not this street. A few of them look at the car as it drives by, but when they see Annie’s face staring back at them, they turn away. The big main boulevard that leads right into the city square must be clogged. She’s glad they’re not on it now.

The car is stifling, even as she rolls down the window to breathe in the city air. Fried fish, and salt, and sea air, and sand. She’d almost forgotten those smells. She’s barely gone into town ever since….

Finnick fidgets next to her. She wonders if he came from this city, too, or from one of the smaller towns. She’s never thought to ask.

She wonders where the new Tributes will be from. Just the reminder of them, that one quick thought, is a punch to the gut. Soon enough, she’ll learn who they are. She’ll know their names and their faces, and she’ll have to help them in their own Arena. She’ll be on cameras again, even with Finnick’s promises that he’ll do all the interviews. The Capitol gaze can’t be avoided, not when she’s in it. The cycle is repeating itself.

She drums her fingers on the window frame and glances over at Finnick. _He was right_ , she thinks. _The Victory Tour never ends. It’s my life now_.

Annie looks back to the street. More faces stare at her with uncomfortable expressions before turning away.

Just a year ago, this city was her home. Now she’s a stranger in it.

The set up for the Reaping is all the same as last year, but this time Annie’s sitting on the stage. They wait for a long time as the citizens of District 4 file in. The kids crowd up in the front, most of them hoping their name is called. Last year, she was there with them, dreading every second.

Finally, Mena steps up to the microphone, smoothing her dress down. She’s also wearing green today, but a softer green with hints of blue. Her eyelashes and shoes and wig all match. Bright pink lips spread over bleached white teeth in a beautiful smile. Her skin looks a little darker than it usually is, too, but that might just be a trick of the light.

“Welcome!” she calls out, her voice reverberating all around the square. “One and all! To the District Four Reaping for the 71st Hunger Games!”

Lots of cheering. Mena waits for it to stop before the video plays. The same one as last year, the same one as every year, reminding them that the Games are a punishment for the crimes of people who are now long dead. Annie folds her fingers together and tries not to cry.

When the video ends, the cheering kicks back up. Mena has to silence them this time.

“They’re more worked up this year,” Annie whispers to Finnick, who sits next to her with his hands also pressed together.

“We won last year,” he says.

“Yeah, but, it was me. I’m crazy now, didn’t you know?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, ignoring her bad joke. “It was still a victory. They want another one.”

“Ladies first!” Mena’s voice is all sunshine and sugar today, like it usually is during the Reaping. She steps up to the huge bowl on her left, and fishes through it for a moment before pulling out a slip of paper. Whoever this girl is, Annie will have to see her through the Games as far as she can. She’s dreading the task already. How can she help someone else survive if she can barely survive on her own?

“This year’s female tribute is….” Mena reads the paper, but pauses for too long. One second, two, three. It feels more like an eternity.

_Every action has a consequence_ , Snow reminds her.

Mena glances, for a fraction of a second, back at Annie, and turns back to the microphone.

“Sorry,” she says, clearing her throat to cover her long silence. “This year’s female tribute is… Twenny Clearing.”


End file.
